


To Love or To Drown

by Hyperionova



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fantasy, M/M, Medieval, Romance, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-04 22:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 71,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16355414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyperionova/pseuds/Hyperionova
Summary: To the town of Dawndale, where all is mired in grey and black, Adrian returns, bearing ponderous sorrow and hopelessness. He is counting his days. But one day, he finds the one splotch of vibrant colours in his otherwise monochromatic life. Jongin, who couldn't stand the man, goes out of his way to hurt Adrian in every way he could.Meanwhile, in the forest, the trees sing.





	To Love or To Drown

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Jongdrian](https://twitter.com/jongdrian)

 

_This is a work of fiction and is an EXO fanfiction. The author does not own character(s) from EXO. Other names, places, characters, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any other resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental._

_The Work is © 2018 Hyperionova._

_The work contains graphic depictions of violence and homoeroticism. It is intended for adult audiences only._

_All images used in the work and covers are free for commercial use (public domain images)._

_Additional notes:_

_The entr'acte is written in first-person narrative, but the rest of the story is in third-person._

 

 

 

 

#  T H E   P R O E M

 

 

The forest was a vast expanse of _life_. _Life_ constituted everything in the forest, every globule of dirt that blanketed the ground that sheltered the roots that gave the trees _life_. The trees, in return, gave _life_ to the vivid green leaves and fronds, which embellished the very air with _life_. The air, the cheapest yet most priceless treasure of all, bestowed _life_ upon everything else. The forest was _alive_. The trees were alive and so were the loam the jagged limb-like roots hugged, the interminably drifting river, the whispering wind, the falling raindrops, the singeing sunrays.

Before there was anything, there were the trees. They graced everything else in the world with _life._

Greedy men disremembered.

Born from the very roots the trees stood upon were the Hamadryads—the true nymphs and spirit of the trees. Each a life. Each with a mind of its own.

The forests were once lands that only belonged to them. Until the men stampeded in and destroyed their homes with sharp blades and pointy arrows. The dryads slowly began to disappear, each engraving their spirit into a tree and thus, becoming a Hamadryad.

“This way.”

 _Men!_ I gasped. _Men in the forest!_ I had seen a few before. But only from a distance. I had never encountered one up close. Well, I was still very young. Some Hamadryads only saw men after decades.

_Men!_

_Calm down, Brother,_ said my sister.

I could not. I was excited.

 _It’s the Jarl,_ informed another Hamadryad. An old one. _And his Overseer. That’s strange. His father, the previous Jarl never hunted._

 _The Jarl!_ I exclaimed with exhilaration. I studied the tall man, who had a lean build with fair hair. He sported a bejewelled circlet around his head and wore a showier riding raiment than the other. He was also carrying a bow and quiver.

“Be quick, Adrian,” said the Jarl, glancing back at his trusty companion, the Overseer.

 _Is that the Overseer,_ I asked the older Hamadryad with awe.

“I cannot be quick if I’m the one cleaning up after your hunts, Your Highness,” replied a taller, bulkier man that followed behind the Jarl, bearing a dead wild boar on his shoulder. He was bigger than most men who had roved through the forest. Even hunters did not have a build so strong. _Fascinating_. But intimidating.

 _Yes,_ said the other Hamadryad. _A fierce warrior he is, that’s the word. A barbarian to most._

I watched the man move with heavy footfalls, but he did have a certain grace about him. He was truly… a _man_. A really beautiful man. And he bore that boar without breaking a sweat. He had nice broad shoulders, a magnificent dark mane that was half tied, a beard that covered his sharp jaw. And eyes… eyes that must melt a million.

The Jarl stopped, slinging his longbow over an arm. He was a young man, not as old as the previous Jarl at least. He and his Overseer appeared to be of the same human age. The Hamadryads did not age like the humans. While the trees lived for decades and decades, some even for centuries, their spirit could live on forever.

“Did you see that?!” the Jarl gasped, eyes squinting across the river. “I saw a deer!” He then glowered at the coursing stream. “But the… river.”

“We can cross it,” suggested the other man. The Overseer. He was _big_. And big hands. His strapping body was padded with solid muscles. He did not look like one of those ordinary hunters.

 _Quit ogling him, Brother,_ chuckled my sister.

I was not _ogling._ I hissed at my sister to shut up. Not that the men could hear us, anyway.

I had heard these men hunt in the forest before. The trees heard everything. But I had never seen them so close. They never wandered so deep into the forest.

“I do not wish to get these clothes wet,” the Jarl said. “I had the threads come all the way from Silkspire.”

The Overseer arched an eyebrow. “Then we should head back.”

“I am not going home with just a boar.” He paused to look around. “Ah-hah! Let’s cut down one of the smaller trees and we can use it as a bridge to cross the river.”

Dread surged through every root of the trees, their branches rustled softly in fear. Men cut the trees down for a lot of purposes. To build homes, fire, things that did not matter. But every time they cut down a tree, they killed a tree nymph and destroyed its spirit. When a tree died of old age, its spirit would remain to grow another tree. But if cut down, they lost their spirit. Many lost their brothers and sisters. In the sorrow, some of them wilted away.

The Jarl skulked around the trees.

 _Brother…_ my sister called as the Jarl wandered closer to me. I was fairly smaller, younger than the other Hamadryads. Hence, my tree was thinner, shorter. But so was my sister’s, whose spirit was born the very day mine was.

After surveying the tree up and down for a moment, the Jarl turned around.

 _No…_ I rustled against the wind as the Jarl started toward my sister. A wily smile crept up on the cruel man’s face.

“This one would do,” he said, raising a hand to the tree. “Soft bark. Barely mature. Let’s cut this.”

The Overseer settled the wild boar on the ground and curled a bloody hand around the grip of his mighty greatsword that seemed apt for a man of his size.

_No, no, no!_

Woe descended upon all the trees as the Overseer drew his sword. The frightening screech of the blade deadened the forest. It was a sword like no other. It fit in the man’s hands like it was made for just him. And to do his deadly biddings. Almost instantly, with the sword now in his hands, he looked like what death feared.

The forest was life. And it taught the trees nothing but the serenity that was found in every inch of the soil, air, and every other strand of the woods. Serene was all that the forest was. And it was all that I had been swaddled by until now. Seeing a blade so deadly drawn, it crushed a part of my spirit.

The Jarl stepped aside, clapping a hand on his Overseer’s shoulder. “I do love hunting with you,” he said. “Just like when we were kids.”

The Overseer did not say anything to respond. He was staring at the tree the Jarl had marked. A hint of apprehension crossed his expression but quickly disappeared. He took hold of the sword with both hands in a tight grip and lifted it.

 _Brother,_ I heard my sister weep. She was about to lose her spirit.

And I was as helpless as the other Hamadryads that watched and grieved.

The swung sword struck the tree down with a single blow. The noise boomed all over the forest, unfettering flocks of startled blue jays into the sky.

A scream escaped me then as a great agony washed down on me. Leaves fell from my branches as I watched my sister fall to the ground, her spirit stamped out like the dying embers of a wildfire.

“Quick,” the Jarl prompted. “Before the stag gets away.”

“Do I have to do this, too?” the Overseer grumbled.

“You _are_ my commander. I am your _Jarl_.”

Rolling his eyes, the bigger man dropped to a crouch before hoisting the fallen trunk of the tree onto his shoulder. The sheer strength of the man was fearsome.

I wept, howled with the wind. The men wandered back to the river.

 _There, there,_ a Hamadryad said to me. _Don’t weep. You mustn’t wilt, child._

How could I not?! It could have been me. It might be me another day!

Tossing the tree, the home of my now dead sister, across the stream, the Overseer held an arm out, beckoning the Jarl to move forward.

The Jarl extracted an arrow from his quiver and drew his bow. “We are going home with a deer, Adrian. It feels like it was only yesterday when we were hunting rabbits.”

“I have been hunting deer and bears since I was thirteen, Vincent,” said the Overseer.

“Well, my father never allowed me to hunt anything else. He was a deranged old man, who believed the forest was alive.”

“It is,” replied the other man.

The Jarl arched an eyebrow. “Why do you kill it, then?”

The Overseer shrugged with a smug look. “I don’t care much for it.”

 _How dare he!_ I cried, my spirit wilting with misery. He glanced at the stump where the roots of his sister still remained.

“Huh. It is true that you have become more ruthless since you went to Greenmire,” the Jarl scoffed.

“I learned a thing or two during my ten years’ service in Greenmire.”

“I heard. A soldier of his own kind.”

Shaking his head, the Overseer smirked and brought a foot onto the edge of the tree, now serving as a makeshift bridge over the river, to keep it steady while the Jarl advanced with careful steps.

 _Ignorant men_ , another Hamadryad groused. _Not only do they fell us and kill our spirit, but they are heartless enough to disrespect us even after our fall._

 _This shall not be the last time they fell one of us,_ said another. _They will return now that the new Jarl is adventurous enough to wander this far into the forest. He will order more men to cut us down!_

_The former Jarl never hunted. This one does. And he will return._

_What should we do?_

I was now frightened for myself and the other Hamadryads. Some were younger than me. They did not deserve to be felled. No Hamadryad did! We committed no sin. We gave life to the forest that fed these men!

“Come on, then!” the Jarl called his companion from the other side of the river. The Overseer, shoulders tense, glanced back at the whistling trees. His icy, murderous blue eyes narrowed. He was looking right at me.

An alien emotion shot through me. Anger. Resentment. Hate.

Men were not only heartless and unkind. They were fools. All the stories about their greed and ignorance were true.

His cold eyes then shot past me. “Baashere,” he called, his voice full and loud and deep. I heard the low growl and the thumping footfalls before I saw the striped, vicious, magnificent beast gallop across me. The tiger stopped before the Overseer and nudged its nose against the man’s palm, as though to bid him hello.

“Let’s go,” the Overseer told the beast and ushered it to cross the river. The mighty animal had no qualms about the steadiness of the tree/bridge as it confidently prowled over it. It did not, however, look as feral as the beasts in the forest. It was a domesticated tiger. The Overseer trudged after it.

They vanished between the trees on the other side of the stream. I broke down and cried out to the Gods, the mountains, the heavens and the skies.

The older Hamadryads around me rustled their branches to solace me but nothing could bring me back from the horror I had witnessed.

 _It will get better,_ a tree nymph said. _You will get used to it._

How could I?

 _Do these men not get punished for what they do to us,_ I shouted at the others.

They looked at me sympathetically. _You are very young. You still have so much to see. And so had your sister but…_ she trailed off. _Men are not like us. They are well… monsters. They go to wars, they have no remorse, they are selfish. You heard the man. He said he does not care for us._

 _Which is why our ancestors disappeared from the eyes of the men. The trees are our home now,_ said another.

 _It would not be our home if they keep felling us!_ I yapped with anguish.

_True that may be, but we are helpless._

No, we were not.

 _We are Hamadryads. We are nymphs. We do not have to be felled as trees!_ I told them.

 _You are young. It is only fair for you to not to understand,_ the other dryad said. _But this is safer._

 _No, I will not have it!_ I turned to the Gods. _I take an Oath._

 _You shan’t!_ cried the other Hamadryads. _You cannot! An Oath must be fulfilled!_

_And I will fulfil it! I will drown the man that felled my sister. I shall not return to the forest or the trees until my spirit has upheld the Oath. Release me, Gods. The men must be taught a lesson. The men who know not how to love, those who know not of peace, and the value of the life the forest gives._

_No!_ a Hamadryad protested. _We aren’t bloodthirsty, vicious creatures._

 _We are spirits! We are lives! We must live,_ I argued. _We are nymphs. They are humans. There aren’t beings more divine and powerful than us in the forest. We have a responsibility to protect it before more of our brothers and sisters fall!_

My argument was not met with a counter. I took the Oath. The Oath to drown the man, who had felled my sister without an ounce of repentance, in the very Mother Ocean. And until I did, I would not return to my tree. I would not return home.

I felt myself and the tree sunder. My spirit severed from the roots. Emptiness washed over me as I was rent from my home, the entity that made me who I was. I felt hollow, miserable. But it ignited the thirst for vengeance in me.

I dropped to the ground. I clutched damp the soil between my fingers. The grey clouds roofing me began to give in and tiny raindrops started to patter on my bare skin. I stood up steadily. When I looked at the trees, they whispered to me and told me to be safe and careful. I then turned to my tree. It had lost its vigour.

 _You must return before your tree wilts without a spirit,_ said a Hamadryad. _The Oath must not be broken._

The Oath must not be broken.

The rain bathed me. I gazed into the forest and glided forward, as nothing but a spirit, which could not be seen by humans. Espying the smoke that came from the town nearby, I started toward it with a fire set deep within me.

 

 

#  O N E

 

 

The rain had drenched them before they returned to the Brantley Longhouse. Dawndale was a small town compared to the neighbouring towns. Small, derelict houses, narrow dirt roads, a stench in the air that said home, constant grey overcasts that allowed little to no sunlight, and sombre gloominess that never lifted from the town. Adrian never imagined that one day, he would come to miss this godforsaken town. But he had. During his time in Greenmire. He had left to find a better fate but realized that being away from Dawndale meant being away from his one and only friend. So, he returned, after Vincent’s father’s passing. To be by Vincent’s side and protect him like he had promised to always.

It had been three weeks since he came home and four since Jarl Brantley died from a fever. The very next day of Adrian’s return, Vincent had retired the former Overseer and appointed Adrian. At least he was no longer mourning. Instead, he was wallowing in alcohol and chambermaids at night, and he clung onto Adrian every chance he got during the day. This morning, he had insisted that they go hunting.

Drunk men were strewn in the alleys, women shrieked at their children playing in the rain and mud. Everything was so grey and dismal. It was frightening to see how literally nothing had changed in ten years.

Adrian kicked a blob of mud off his boot as he tugged at the reins of his and Vincent’s horses that were bearing the fruits of the hunt. A boar. Vincent had not managed to arrow down the stag. He had missed. And he was furrowing his blonde brows, sulking over it.

“It’s just a deer,” Adrian said, trying to cheer him up. “You’ll get one next time.”

Vincent scowled harder, the raindrops collecting between the burrows of his wrinkled forehead. “Easy for you to say. You _never_ miss. You were the slaughterer who slaughtered a thousand mercenaries in Greenmire in your twenties. The High King of Arengol honoured your service with a fucking sword made of fucking silver. You hunted deer and bears when you were thirteen.”

He scoffed sardonically, rolling his eyes. Adrian sighed in reply. “Not a thousand,” he said. “I’m no God. It was only two hundred.”

Vincent groaned then. “Two hundred! Do you know who used to cut my steak until I was fifteen? Your name was sung all over Arengol for an entire month as the commander who took an entire enemy army down while I had a personal steak-cutter.”

Adrian stifled a laugh.

People bowed when they saw the Jarl strolling through the town in the pouring rain, wearing a grim lour. Adrian wished Vincent would at least be mature enough to not to brood about petty matters. His father was a lazy man, but he was wise. He had been a Jarl the people respected. In spite of the shit and mud Dawndale was mired in, the previous Jarl had kept it together and safe with his diplomacy. Vincent lacked such diplomatic skills as much as he lacked the dexterity of a soldier. He was… well, he was helpless. He was kind but that was not going to help him keep the Jarl’s throne.

Which was why Adrian needed to be by him. It would not take much to overthrow someone like Vincent Brantley. Despite being thirty-two, the man was incompetent to take over his father’s responsibilities. He was easy on the eye, though. Sharp green eyes, fair blonde hair, high cheekbones, pointy nose. At some point, as teenagers, Adrian had even fancied the boy. They were men now and Vincent had long made it clear that he liked women. Which Adrian did, too.

It did not matter. That was a teenage infatuation that Adrian had long gotten over. Besides, he had learned plenty of upholding the honour of a soldier while in Greenmire. That meant, loyalty and promises came before anything else. He would honour every oath he took. And he had taken an oath to defend Vincent where he could not do it himself.

When they reached the longhouse, the Housecarls prised the doors open for them before they took the horses and boar from Adrian’s hands.

“Get warm,” he told Vincent, who was not listening as he stared at one of the two Housecarls. Adrian noticed that Vincent did that every time the Housecarl was in his presence. He looked at the tall, young Housecarl like he was the last piece of sweetmeat. Then he glanced to the other Housecarl, the older, bearded one. Like he was another piece of sweetmeat.

Once the two men were gone, Vincent turned to glower at the empty throne on the dais on the other side of the large firepit in the middle of the great hall. Adrian raised a hand to the Jarl’s shoulder.

“Vince.”

The fairhead shuddered and turned to Adrian. “I can’t even hunt down a deer,” he said. “How am I going to be a Jarl to the people of Dawndale?” he said, eyes limpid.

Adrian squeezed his shoulder. “With me at your side.”

“You are a great soldier, Adrian,” Vincent mumbled, brushing a drop of rainwater from his eye. “But you don’t know how to be a Jarl either, do you?”

“You will learn, Vincent,” Adrian told him. “Besides, how hard can it be to govern a rathole like Dawndale?”

“You’re right,” he sighed. “It can’t be that hard. It’s just that… it’s been four weeks and I haven’t actually done anything… Jarl-like. The people are hesitant to even come to me with their problems because in their eyes, I’m still just the Jarl’s insignificant son.”

Adrian wished he had something to reassure him that he would be a good Jarl. But he had no idea of how good of a Jarl Vincent would turn to be.

“Get some rest and warmth,” he said to his friend. “I have to go see where Baashere went.”

“Oh, and the tiger,” Vincent snorted. “You have a pet tiger. If that doesn’t spell out how amazing you are…”

“I am not _amazing_ ,” Adrian replied. “Ringmasters have pet tigers, lions, bears. I found Baashere as a little cub. It was easy to tame him.”

“Yeah, yeah. The world doesn’t know all that. The day you walked back into Dawndale, Adrian, the people looked at you like you were… you were someone _great_. And you are. What am I in comparison?”

Adrian scowled. “You’re the Jarl. I’m the Overseer. You said it yourself. It does not matter what I’ve achieved. I am your servant, Vincent. And I will do my duty. So, stop comparing you and I.”

A shaky smile stretched a corner of Vincent’s lips. “You know, when you left for Greenmire, I had thought that you wouldn’t achieve all that you have. I thought… you were walking towards your demise. But I suppose leaving Dawndale was the best decision you’ve ever made.”

Adrian did not like where this conversation was going. He turned on his heel to leave but paused when Vincent caught his arm.

“You did not have to come back for me,” the new Jarl said with a sad smile. “I would have survived.”

“I know,” Adrian spat. “But I chose to come home. I did not do it all for you.” He lied. “Greenmire was getting… too much.” If he hadn’t left it, he would be serving at the High King’s garrison as a General. He would not be a measly Overseer protecting the Jarl of a good-for-nothing hold.

Vincent released his arm. “All right.”

Adrian bowed his head and took his leave, wandering back out into the rain. He found Baashere playing in the mud outside. The kids, bathed in the rain they were cavorting under a moment ago, had run back into their homes to hide behind the wooden doors, all terrified of the striped beast that strutted into the town.

“Baashere,” Adrian called, his voice thundering louder than the rain. “That’s enough.”

The tiger looked up at him with mud sticking to his nose and fur wet from the rain. By the time he had skipped over to Adrian, the mud was washed off his fur.

“Let’s get you inside,” he said, catching hold of the tiger’s brown collar to usher him into the longhouse.

The Brantley Longhouse was nowhere near as big and well-accommodated as the longhouse of the Jarl of Greenmire. But this was precisely where Adrian had grown up. This was where he had watched his mother break her back every day and night to serve the Jarl and his family as a penniless servant. As a child, he had little hopes for him. He was just a servant’s son. What great things could a servant’s son clinch?

While his mother worked, he would sneak into the training arena and watch the Housecarls train. One of them, one day, handed him a sword to hold after catching him staring at the Housecarls at swordplay. He must have been ten then. It was that moment when he decided that he would, too, become a Housecarl and serve the Jarl and his family. And so, he had trained to be one.

His mother had been proud, of course, although she never truly believed that he could do wonders. Neither did Adrian. The only person who believed he could was Vincent. That went without saying since they were the best of friends.

He could not even remember how they befriended each other in the first place. Well, Adrian was the only kid at Vincent’s age in the longhouse. A handshake led to another and soon, they were sparring in the backyard. Vincent always lost, though.

Adrian would love to see him win now, especially as a Jarl.

As he sauntered into his personal quarters, Baashere followed, shaking the last specks of dirt from his body.

“Do not get on the bed,” Adrian warned him, but it was the first thing Baashere did. Leaping onto the pallet, he started licking his fur dry.

Adrian sighed and shrugged the wet riding cloak off his shoulders before tearing the shirt from his skin. Unbuckling the sword belt, he set the greatsword aside. He’d never forget the day he had gotten it. There had even been a big ceremony. Perhaps it would be his first and final breakthrough. He doubted he’d be making much history in Greenmire.

With a heavy huff, he plumped unceremoniously on the foot of the bed and slouched tiredly. Baashere nudged his nose on Adrian’s back before rubbing his head against it. Adrian smiled back at the silly beast and lifted a hand to stroke its head.

He paused to regard the leather strap wound around the palm of his right hand to keep it concealed. A familiar heaviness descended upon his heart. Unwinding the leather, he stared at the blisters and scars on the hand that had been wielding weapons for countless years. Then his gaze fell on the deep purpled veins protruding on both sides of his hands before they disappeared mid-forearm. They flowed along his skin like jagged streams of rivers, in the frightening hues of blue, red and purple. Only six months ago, they were at the hilt of his palm. Now, they were almost at his elbow. Clenching the hand into a fist, he drew a breath. He then looked down at his chest. The purplish veins were beginning to spread out from the sternum of his chest, lightly discolouring his skin there into a sinister-looking shade of grey. It was still faint, almost invisible to the naked eye, but Adrian knew it was there. And very soon, it would darken as it continued to spread and worsen.

Sighing, he collapsed back on the bed and threw an arm over his eyes. All the healers he had consulted presaged the absence of a cure for his disease. He opened his eyes again to his tiger licking along the weakening, blackening hand.

Adrian smiled at Baashere and scratched the beast’s head. “You need to be a good boy when I’m no longer around, do you understand? Do not go around scaring children.”

Baashere settled his chin on Adrian’s stomach and closed his eyes for a nap.

* * *

As the evening began to darken the weeping skies, the town’s bell was sounded to warn the townspeople of an impending storm that might render them sleepless tonight.

Adrian showed up at the long table in the great hall for dinner after a bath and slipping into his uniform. It was more comfortable the one he had to wear as a Hold Guard in Greenmire. The black complemented his blue eyes, Vincent had told him last week during breakfast. Just like how the rubies on his circlet complemented his own green eyes.

“Adrian,” Vincent called from the table with a boyish grin when he spotted Adrian ambling into the great hall with a hungry Baashere at his side. Adrian had never seen the long table so empty. The previous Jarl, Vincent’s father, had had many friends in his court. Vincent, on the other hand, was bereft of the necessary social skills and trust to make many friends. He always believed that absolutely everyone had an ulterior motive for befriending royalty. Even Adrian. Well, at least he was honest.

Taking his seat at Vincent’s side, Adrian surveyed the food laid out before him on the table. As a child, he had only dreamed of tasting such dishes. Sometimes his mother would bring him leftovers, but they were, well, leftovers. Then the Great Greenmire Battle, in which he had led troops that slaughtered approximately six hundred mercenaries—and two hundred which he had indeed singlehandedly razed to the ground—that tried to breach the Greenmire Stronghold and usurp the Jarl. The promotions that followed had brought better food to his table. But they were still not as good as the food he was now welcome to share with the Jarl.

He looked at Vincent’s empty plate. “You should not have to wait for me,” he said quietly, keeping an eye on the servants, who constantly looked aghast with the sort of friendship their Jarl shared with his Overseer. Sure, Vincent’s father had friends. But they were all noblemen and women. Not a dirty soldier.

“I know,” Vincent said, smirking. “But I do not like eating alone. Hey, Baashere.”

The tiger rubbed its head on Vincent’s leg, coaxing him for a treat. Vincent giggled and handed him a hunk of pheasant meat.

“Let’s eat,” he then told Adrian. While the servants plated Vincent’s dinner, Adrian helped himself to the meat first, then the bread. He was definitely grateful for the freshly baked breads in the longhouse. His tongue had turned into something like coarse sand after years of eating stale bread.

Baashere waited impatiently for his portion of Adrian’s dinner.

“You know, he could have his own meal,” Vincent said.

“It’s all right,” Adrian replied. “We’re used to this.” He carved out a slice of meat and tossed it to the tiger. “We always shared what I earned.”

“You earn more than just a couple of meals a day, Adrian.”

“And my own quarters in your longhouse.”

“More than all that,” Vincent said and turned to a servant. “Where is Malthe?”

“In his quarters, My Lord,” answered the servant.

Vincent rubbed his forehead. “Adrian, shouldn’t my Steward be near me all the time?”

“I don’t know about all the time,” Adrian said. “But most of the time, yes.”

“Then why is he in his quarters?” he yapped at the servant.

“I’ll send for him at once, My Lord,” the servant blurted out and hurtled away. Vincent sighed.

“I need a new council. A council of my own.”

“I think so, too,” Adrian admitted. “You’ll need to appoint a new Steward, a new council, a new Counsel and a new Treasurer. These men were loyal to your father. You cannot be sure they’ll be loyal to you, too. Build your own court. And it has been weeks, Vince. You must speak to your Hold Guard Captain and the Hold Guards. Debrief about the defence lines.”

“You’re the Overseer,” Vincent groaned. “Can’t you do that?”

Adrian narrowed his eyes. “My duty is to protect _you_ and to _oversee_ the Housecarls, who guard _you_. You are my job. Not the hold.”

“Then I shall appoint you as the Hold Guard Captain, too.”

Adrian would have smacked his head if they had still been the young children who used to run around the town looking for trouble.

He took a deep breath. “I cannot guard you while I’m away guarding the hold, can I?”

Vincent shrugged. “All right. I’ll talk to them.”

The Steward showed up after a while with a dishevelled appearance. The creases in his robe and the tousled hair gave away too much. Vincent arched an eyebrow at the old man.

“Having a good evening with the servant girls, are we?” he said cockily. “I didn’t know I pay them to serve you, too.” Adrian huffed again, shaking his head.

“Be stern, not cheeky, smart ass,” he muttered to Vincent silently. He noticed the shift in the other man’s shoulders.

He cleared his throat and scowled at the Steward. Then in a louder, firmer voice, he said, “Oh, yes. Where were you, Malthe?”

“Forgive me, My Lord,” the Steward said. “I was occupied with something in my study.”

Vincent waved his hand to cut him off. “Summon the Treasurer and the council. Oh, and you’re fired.”

“No, you’re not,” Adrian rasped as the Steward’s eyes bulged out, and Vincent grimaced at him.

“But you said—”

“Do you have a list of candidates ready to replace him?”

Vincent glared. “No.”

“Then you can’t fire the one steward you have at hand.” He looked at the Steward. “Your responsibility is to be at your Jarl’s reach when he needs you, do you understand? He shouldn’t have to summon you.”

“Y-Yes, My Lord,” Malthe said, bowing. “Apologies.”

“Bring me what I asked of you,” Vincent ordered. The Steward hurried away before returning with a fat pouch.

“Here it is, My Lord.”

Vincent wrenched the pouch out of the old man’s hand and handed it to Adrian with a big smile. “I know you earned more in Greenmire, but I thought you should get what you work for. And a room and three meals don’t cut it. This is the pay for an Overseer in Dawndale. The Treasurer will have it paid to you every second week.”

Adrian smiled and accepted the pouch. “It feels like I’m getting paid for doing nothing, though.” It really did. He liked being in Vincent’s company. And this was home. Wielding a sword was basically a hobby.

They resumed with dinner. A thunder made the servants jump with a start.

“Dawndale hasn’t seen a storm like this in more than a year,” Vincent said.

“If the river overflows, we might have a flood,” Adrian said.

Vincent frowned. “You don’t think that would happen, do you?”

“You do not have walls to prevent that from happening.”

“I should?”

Adrian chuckled. “Yes, Vince. You should.”

“How much would that cost?”

“I’m not your Treasurer.”

Vincent planted his head in his hands. “Insofar, I hate being a Jarl. I know nothing about it!”

“You’ll learn, my friend,” Adrian said and rose from his seat, clapping a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “I will have a look at the situation in the town. Good night.”

“Why do you wear that on your hand?” he inquired suddenly, looking at the leather strip wound around Adrian’s palm.

“Gives me a better grip,” Adrian answered without a stutter, curling the hand around the hilt of his sword.

“Ah. Well then, good night,” he grumbled. His eyes were already flitting to the servant girl that was picking up Adrian’s plate.

“Come on,” he called Baashere.

Grabbing a cloak, he then headed out of the longhouse. Most of the shops were closed, the stalls taken away for cover. The wells were opened to let the rain fill it. The streets were muddy with water puddles everywhere.

Adrian trudged along the awnings of the houses and shops, drawing the leather cowl over his head. Baashere did not mind the rain. And he followed Adrian silently, knowing very well where they were heading.

It had become sort of a habit. Adrian did it almost every evening for the past three weeks, and he was not going to let a little rain break his streak. It had started that very fateful day he returned to Dawndale. He had trodden along this very street to get to the longhouse after ten years.

And that was when he had stumbled upon the grandest house in Dawndale, almost as big as the Brantley Longhouse. It had not been here when Adrian had left Dawndale for Greenmire. It almost looked like a stately home that belonged to aristocrats. It was one of the few houses in Dawndale that was made entirely of bricks and cement.

He had soon learned that the house belonged to a well-heeled tea merchant, who had moved to Dawndale with his family several years ago, and he had had his impressively large and showy home built in the middle of the town. He traded spices and tea leaves. The word on the street was that the merchant was richer than the Jarl. And Adrian believed it because the man lived like it. People also talked about how arrogant and miserly the man was toward those who were less comfortable.

Vincent knew little to nothing about them, though. He said that he had neither time nor interest in getting to know about a silk-stocking, conceited merchant.

“Hold on!” Adrian called out at the man who was closing his store. He paused, blinking at the large cloaked figure. His eyes widened as Adrian approached him, pulling his cowl down.

“Oh, the Overseer. My Lord,” the shopkeeper said, bowing his head. “I’m closing for the day because of the rain.”

“I know,” Adrian said. “I would like to purchase a…” he trailed off, glancing over at the variety of wildflowers the man was selling. None of them were exotic. They were all from the forest nearby. His eyes then fell on the single red flower in the corner. He had never seen a flower of that kind. “Where is that from?”

“Maplespell, My Lord,” the shopkeeper said. “It takes them a while to wilt. Quite long-lasting. Could be fresh for almost a month. I had twenty imported. They sold out fast.”

The six-petaled flower looked lonely, sitting in the clay jar as a single stalk. Adrian decided to put it out of its misery. “I would like to purchase it.”

“Of course,” the man said and plucked it from the jar. “That’d be two coppers.”

Adrian handed him the money before taking the flower. Its stalk felt like velvet. It had a pleasant smell to it.

“Is it for a pretty lady?” the shopkeeper inquired with a wry smile.

Adrian felt the cold wind blow against his hot cheeks. “Perhaps.” He thanked the shopkeeper and was on his way again.

 _What am I doing,_ he thought, pulling the cowl back on. “This is ridiculous,” he said to Baashere, looking down at the flower in his hand.

He was a soldier, for God’s sake. He should not be holding flowers. Especially in the hand that took so many lives and was stained with blood. It was used to holding the hardness of his sword’s grip, not the leanness of a flower stalk.

“Ah, what’s the point, anyway,” he grumbled, already foreseeing the fate of the flower. Baashere looked bored as he quietly strode at Adrian’s side, blinking the rainwater from his eyes. Adrian secured the flower inside his cloak.

They eventually reached the back of the merchant’s extravagant mansion. Adrian swallowed hard. It was raining. He might not find the boy at the back of the mansion, in the garden gazebo, where he usually would be, reading a book or petting his dog.

Adrian peered over the fence and looked past the rainwater dripping from his cowl. He spotted the boy in the gazebo with a book in his hand and a blanket draped around his shoulders. As a small smile wended its way to Adrian’s lips, his heart skipped a beat. Baashere growled lightly at the dog that had awakened with a jolt to glower directly at tiger and his owner. It then barked with alarm.

The boy raised his gaze from the book and turned it in the direction of where the dog was yapping at. His eyes narrowed, and eyebrows furrowed at once. He scowled at Adrian.

Adrian smiled at him but when the smile was not returned, as always, his own died from his face. He licked a rivulet of rainwater from his lips and withdrew the flower from his cloak. Then bending over, he placed the flower on the grass. The boy silently watched. He then scoffed with a scornful smirk and shook his head.

He rose from the chair and climbed down the steps of the gazebo. He picked up a parasol and held it over his head before making his way to the fence.

“You are an insistent one, aren’t you?” the boy snorted, stopping a few feet before the fence.

Adrian shrugged.

“You must be daft,” the boy spat then, scowling again. He had a honeyed voice that did not sound stern even when he was angry. “And your tiger is not that impressive either.”

Baashere snarled at him. Adrian brought a hand to his head to calm him down.

The boy sneered smugly. “Oh. Is this for me?” His soft voice barely carried over the cacophony of the rain. Adrian leered at the light mist of the rain sheening on the boy’s bronze skin and rosy plush lips. Tiny raindrops collected between the dark shock of hair. The skin, the lips, the hair, the deep dips of his collarbones, the slender fingers, the lean curve of his waist, everything about the boy drove Adrian crazy and so did those dark eyes that always looked at him with scorn, disgust, and discrimination.

“You don’t talk?” the boy asked.

As a matter of fact, Adrian had never said a word to the boy. He was too worried about what he might blurt out if he spoke. That _and_ the fact that he was always tongue-tied around the boy.

“I’ve heard you talk, though,” the boy then said. “Why don’t you talk to me? A big, strong Overseer, you are, aren’t you?” He lifted a booted foot and brought it to the flower on the grass. “Too bad you’re nothing more.” He stomped on the flower before crushing its petals.

Adrian pulled away from the fence and turned around to head back to the longhouse.

He must be stupid. So stupid to have fallen for the boy. But he had, the very first time he had seen the boy in the gazebo, laughing and playing with his dog.

“You will come back tomorrow, won’t you?” the boy called after him with a mocking scoff. “If you want, my father is looking for a flunkey to polish his shoes. It pays more than what the Jarl probably pays you.”

Adrian stopped and drew a breath. Sometimes, he forgot that he was still just a servant’s son and he knew nothing about his father, save his last name. Vanstone. Not that Adrian ever used it with his own name, anyway.

The boy did a very good job at reminding him of that fact, though. He had had enough of that reminder in Greenmire where almost everyone was rich or noble. He had stopped letting it bother him.

And tomorrow, he would indeed go back to see the boy and love him silently from afar while the boy made him a subject of his amusement. He knew he had no chance with the boy. So, he did not care much about the insults. Besides, there was only so much a dying man could dream to obtain.

He was totally and unbelievably stupid, wasn’t he?

 

 

#  T W O

 

 

“Was that him?!” his older, married sister gasped when he returned back inside and shut the backdoor shut after ushering Duke in.

“Yeah,” Jongin mumbled, scratching behind Duke’s ear.

His sister grabbed his arms and forced him to meet her wide eyes. “You must be joking! He is the Overseer?”

“Yes.” He squirmed now and tried to break free from his sister’s grip. “Why are you all excited?”

“Well, the last Overseer was all… scraggy and wrinkled and short and crumpled like my old puss!”

Jongin grimaced at her. “Remind me not to get old in front of you, Kataj.”

“I just mean, _that’s_ the new Overseer the new Jarl appointed?!”

“Apparently, they were childhood friends and he just came back to Dawndale after years of being away.” He leaned against the kitchen table and popped a blackberry into his mouth. “Riding his friend’s coattail.”

“He doesn’t look like it. He is twice your size.”

“No, he isn’t.” He made a face. “He’s just… tall.”

“And big.”

Jongin rolled his eyes. His sister went back to slicing the lettuce. “Doesn’t matter. He’s still a dirty servant of the Jarl’s. Wouldn’t be surprised if they’re fucking. All soldiers do that, don’t they?”

“Oh, God!” his sister cried. “Since when do you use expletives in this house?!”

“Since Mother and Father left the house an hour ago.”

Kataj shuddered. “Mind your language, Jongin. Father would not like it very much if he heard you say such things.”

“Oh, please. He hates the Jarl and his incompetent servants and soldiers just as much.”

“Remind me again why that’s the case.”

Jongin moved to sit on a stool while his sister proceeded with cooking dinner. “You have to admit, Dawndale has never been in worse shape. You’re lucky you got married away from this town and you only have to visit once in a while.”

“And Father blames the Jarl’s incapability for what’s happening to Dawndale?”

“Yes! And it’s fair. Now that the old Jarl’s dead, Dawndale’s fate is in the hands of his inexperienced son who has done absolutely nothing since his ascension. But he gets to sit on the throne because he’s the birthright?! Father is a more respected man in this town than he is.”

“That’s not how it works. Father cannot become the Jarl,” his sister said.

“But why not? Father has resources. He is an educated man.”

“He is a merchant. Not a politician.”

“Either way, the Jarl is hopeless. And his Overseer is the dumbest rogue I’d ever seen. Do you know how many men he’s murdered?”

“What’s his name?”

“Adrian Vanstone.”

Kataj froze, eyes almost popping out. “ _The_ Adrian Vanstone of Greenmire?”

Jongin rolled his eyes again. “He’s not that great. He’s a murderer and so… so filthy. A soldier that has nothing to his name.”

“The Adrian Vanstone of Greenmire is courting my little brother. Wow.”

Jongin jolted up from his seat. “He’s not _courting_ me!”

“He is! You said it yourself last night that the Overseer is trying to woo you and that he’s been coming by almost every evening for the past three weeks!”

“I… I…” He met his sister’s smirk. “I don’t know, all right?! He’s a weird man. And you are forgetting that I am already engaged. To the wealthiest woman in the Town of Bleakfalls. Soon, I’ll be out of here, too.” A wealthier, older woman.

Kataj huffed heavily. “You’ve never cared about wealth. Or women, for that matter. Why would you even want to marry a _wealthy woman_?”

“Because Father said so,” Jongin muttered. “We don’t go against what Father says, do we? That’s not how things go in this household.”

His sister’s expression then softened into something like pity. “I know,” she sighed. “But I am happy with my husband and our dearest daughter.”

Jongin plucked another berry from the fruit basket on the table, scowling at nothing.

“Have you told Mother and Father about this Overseer pestering you?”

Jongin would not call it pestering per se. It was a very insulting that he was being wooed by a dirty soldier who had more deaths to his name than property. And it was even more embarrassing that while his sisters, both the married and unmarried, were courted by handsome, rich men, Jongin was receiving a single stupid flower from a man, who probably could not even afford a house of his own.

But it was more entertaining that he thought. He had never been wooed before. And although he wanted nothing to do with a Jarl’s servant, he was curious about how far the man would go to impress Jongin.

“No, I haven’t,” he said. “And I won’t.”

“Why not? Father would surely get rid of him.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. He could throw some money at his face and if that doesn’t work, he’d hire someone to take care of the job.”

Jongin almost laughed. “The man butchered hundreds of men with a single sword. Who could Father possibly hire to do the job?”

“Fair point,” she mumbled, gnawing at her lip. She pushed a dark tuft of hair out of her face and winked at Jongin. “You are not in denial, are you?”

Jongin blinked. “What?”

“Not a lot of people could turn down a _man_ like that.”

“You would have.”

“Not before bending and breaking my back for him first.”

“Ew. I did not need that image.” He scrubbed his face with his palms. “But you _would_ turn him down.”

“Well, Father would never approve. And I care too much about my nice clothes to be with a soldier. Especially one from Dawndale.”

“My point exactly. How dare he think he’s good enough to woo _me_?!”

“He is very handsome, though.”

“You could not even have seen his face clearly!”

“I don’t have to. I’ve heard stories.”

“Like what?” Jongin loured.

“Like how his thing is as great and sharp as the greatsword he carries.”

“Bullshit,” Jongin spat. “The people can’t know that. And even if they did, how would this hearsay spread all the way from Greenmire to Dawndale?”

“Fine, I’m joking. But how did this entire thing start?”

Jongin cast his mind back to that day the man showed up on the other side of the fence, clad in his Overseer uniform with a large sword hanging at his hip and a goddamn tiger skulking about him. Jongin had thought he was dreaming. But the man was staring directly at him before a sheepish grin worked its way to his face.

Jongin had not known what to make of the whole situation. All that he knew was was that his stomach was all in knots and twists as he continued to look at those two pools of confused but eager blue eyes. The man then had run a huge hand, that was wrapped in leather, through his dark hair before he scratched his beard nervously. Jongin had scowled at him.

Then rubbing the back of his neck, the man had walked away. It was the strangest thing ever. But then the man returned the next evening with a mortified look on his face. He seemed shy but what kind of man, who was as grown as him, be embarrassed for ogling someone? Jongin had not entirely been sure that he was being ogled. But the small gestures the Overseer made, the wry smirks, the longing gazes, and not to mention the flower he had brought Jongin today were so transparent.

He had never brought a flower before, though. He must be getting braver.

“He showed up one day and looked at me like he was looking at a ghost,” Jongin said. “Then he turned away with a face as red as a tomato.”

His sister giggled. “The man is in love with you.”

“Cut it out, Kataj. I do not want a servant to be in love with me.”

“He’s not technically a servant.”

“Technically, he is. He serves the Jarl.”

“He’s an Overseer, Jongin. It is one of the most prestigious positions in a Jarl’s hold.”

“Sure. But let us also factor in the fact that the Jarl we’re talking about is the Jarl of Dawndale.”

His sister exhaled heavily.

“You know what? It does not matter. He is still a servant no matter whom he’s serving. I do not want to be a servant’s lover.”

“Not that Mother and Father would ever let you, anyway.”

“Precisely. I am just having some fun with the whole situation.”

“All right. But don’t let it get out of hand and let yourself fall deeper into this than you already are.”

“I fucking won’t, okay?!” he yapped and bit his tongue when he heard the front door open. Straightening up, he hurried to the front hall to greet his parents, who spilled in, drenched from head to toe.

“That was a horrible rain,” his mother groused, putting her parasol away and dusting the raindrops from her skirt. “A storm is coming.”

“Yes, they sounded the bell,” Jongin said. “How was tea at the Garretts’?”

The Garretts were the second wealthiest family in Dawndale after them. And they weren’t even half as wealthy as them. His parents did not particularly like the Garretts, but his father was an avid proponent of the policy, ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer.’

“They served cheap wheat biscuits,” his father spat. “I can’t believe it.”

“Well, Kataj’s almost done with dinner,” Jongin said, grinning. “You should dry up and come down for dinner.”

“We know what to do, Jongin,” his father said and Jongin fell silent while his father removed his shoes. “Where’s the damn valet?!”

As though on cue, Matthew, Father’s valet rushed down the stairs. “My Lord,” he called as he took the coat off his master’s shoulders. “Welcome back.”

“Jongin, I must speak with you later,” his father ordered.

“Of course, Father,” Jongin said nervously. Had his father found out about the Overseer?

His mother brushed a stray lock of hair out of Jongin’s face and smiled before pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Why do you look so pale, sweetheart?” she inquired.

Jongin managed a smile and shook his head. “I am fine, Mother.”

“He is fine, Hana,” his father said. “Come.”

When they had disappeared up the stairs, he sauntered into the drawing room where he found his younger sister and their niece at the lyre. They were the only people in all of Dawndale who owned a lyre.

Unlike his older sister, his younger sister, Fanin, was quiet and like Jongin, she too was a bookworm.

“Your mother’s looking for you,” he told his five-year-old niece, who jumped off Fanin’s lap and ran out of the drawing room. Jongin sat down on the chaise longue beside his sister.

Finding Jongin in the room, Duke jumped onto the chaise longue and curled into a ball.

“Why do you look so tired?” his sister asked.

“I do?” Jongin murmured. He glanced out the window. It was already getting dark. He sighed. “He came again.”

“The Overseer?” She shifted in her seat to face Jongin with a serious face. “Have you told him not to come?”

“Well, not exactly. But haven’t I given him enough hints that I am not interested?”

“Are you?”

Jongin cocked an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

His younger sister shrugged. “Kataj fell in love in a single day after her betrothed leered at her once. The man’s been wooing you for weeks. And you can’t seem to stop talking about him.”

“That’s not true! I don’t talk about him…”

“It’s all you talk about, Jongin,” Fanin scoffed, smiling. “Well, you don’t say anything good about him, but it is clear that he’s in your every thought and you are reluctant to do anything about it. You’re not exactly making any attempts to get rid of him.”

“Oh, believe me, I am. He’s just very… persistent.” He groaned. “Okay, I don’t want to talk about him.”

Shooting up to his feet, he meandered his way to his bedroom. Duke did not follow as he fell asleep on the chaise longue. It was a big house and he almost never left it.

He hated Dawndale, although he had lived here for almost six years, since he was sixteen. It was a practically a ghost town. The people never smiled. But the town was closer to the sea and the trading routes. It was a cheap, strategic town to live in for his miserly father.

It would not be long, though. Jongin would soon be married and he would be out of here. He lounged on his bed and picked up the book he was reading last night from the bedside table. Lighting up the oil lamp, he gazed out the window momentarily and shivered when he saw a lightning bolt that was followed by a head-splitting thunder. A branch protruding from the tree on the backyard tapped on his window relentlessly, swayed by the forceful wind. The rain was getting worse.

Planting his face in the pillow, he thought about the man at the fence. It was bold of him to court another man. Well, Jongin was barely a man, according to his father, even though he was already twenty-one. He had spent all his time and effort on education. His father approved of that, of course. He did not want any one of his family members going rowdy with any sort of weapon in their hands. It was not classy, he said. And those who depended on their hands to put food in their mouths were truly idiots. So, Jongin never learned how to wield a sword. Ironically, his father also believed that being able to stand on his own two feet was what made a man a man. He was as smart as a whip, though. He just could not find any job befitting his skills here in Dawndale, where most people depended on their hands to put food in their mouths.

Why was the Overseer so persistent, anyway? He barely knew Jongin. In fact, he did not know him at all. Jongin doubted the man even knew his name. Was he really courting Jongin or was he just fooling around? Why would a grown man waste his time like this? It made no sense. And especially after all the hard glares and mean remarks Jongin had been throwing in the man’s way for the past week. Had they not fazed him in the least? Did he not have an ounce of shame?

Well, he was from the lowest of social classes. Being appointed as an Overseer or meeting the High King of Arengol was not going to change the fact that he was lowborn. Jongin’s family was a nouveau riche, but he was definitely not a lowborn scum. And for crying out loud, this man thought Jongin would even look in his way! The audacity!

He cocked his head and watched the tree branch rap against the window. The room was cold. Jongin considered moving to the chair by the fireplace. But he kept his eyes on the window.

The branch curled and twisted suddenly before it slammed against the window in the shape of a hand.

Jongin gasped and sat up, blood spiking to his brain.

“Jongin. Dinner!”

He jumped up from the bed and glanced to the door before he looked back at the window again. There was just a… branch.

His breathing calmed. God, his head must be so frazzled that he was seeing things.

“Coming, Mother!” he cried out and hurried out of the room. He paused in the doorway to glance back at the window. He stared at the branch for a moment before heading downstairs.

He joined his family—his parents, his younger sister, older sister and her daughter, who were visiting—at the table.

“Jongin, sit,” his mother said.

Once Jongin had sunk into the seat beside his mother, they waited until his father had carved the meat before the servant served them food.

“So, Father,” Jongin said. “You said you wanted to speak to me.”

His father took a sip from his winecup. “Ah, yes. I think it is about time you’ve gotten yourself a job, don’t you think?”

The table turned quiet. Jongin took a bite of the boiled potato. “A job, Father?”

“I heard from the Garretts’, whose son works as a Housecarl, that the Jarl might be appointing a new council. You should head over to the longhouse and apply for a job on the council.”

Kataj choked on her carrots and coughed. Jongin blinked at his father, bewildered. “Th-The Jarl’s council?” he muttered. “But, Father, you hate the man.”

“I do,” he said. “Which is why I need a man of our own in there.”

“Father,” Kataj called. “Why do you need a man of our own in there?”

“We have an inept Jarl. It wouldn’t be long before the people realize how maladroit he is and that Dawndale will be in ruins due to his incompetency. And he has no heir to succeed him.”

“How does me working there going to help?” Jongin asked.

“It won’t,” his father said. “But the longhouse is the only place in Dawndale we don’t have an influence in.”

“That and a hundred other houses, Father,” Fanin said with an expressionless face.

“Do not speak out of turn, Fanin,” he chided sternly. Fanin pursed her lips. “You are doing as I say, Jongin. Tomorrow, you will present yourself before the Jarl and request to join the council. Do you understand?”

No, Jongin did not. He knew exactly nothing about being on a council. But he assumed members of the Jarl’s council would need to be well-erudite, which he was. But he did not want to _serve_ the Jarl. It was against everything he believed in.

“Father, I do not feel comfortable about… working for the Jarl. Or even begging him for a job,” he said quietly.

His father’s eyebrows began to furrow into a scowl. “Do you feel comfortable living under my roof and eating my food. And have you considered what your fiancée would think of you? Jobless and with no title to himself.”

Jongin’s cheeks grew hot.

“Darling,” his mother said to her husband. “It’s—”

“It is a perfect job for you,” his father spat. “You will take it if he’s willing to offer it to you.”

Lowering his gaze, Jongin clenched his fists under the table. “You want me to be the Jarl’s servant?”

“It would be the most respectable responsibility in the longhouse apart from the Jarl’s. You will not be a servant.”

Jongin sighed. “I’m not hungry. I wish to be excused.”

“You’re excused,” his father said. “You will make an appearance before the Jarl tomorrow morning.”

Jongin rose from the table and wended back up to his room, where he sulked for the rest of the evening.

 

 

##  e n t r’a c t e

 

 

 _Interesting,_ I thought. A murderer longed for the love of a boy who despised him. _Very interesting_.

The sorrow did not match the grief of countless Hamadryads, whose spirit was vanquished in vain, however. I could not stop the entire human race singlehandedly. But I could avenge my sister. I could hurt the man who killed her. And I could hurt him really bad. I would make him drown in the Mother Ocean willingly.

A life for a _life_.

I waited until the boy was asleep. Two souls could not inhabit a single entity. But spirits could cohabit in harmony. A soul could have many spirits. And humans were susceptible to mind warping. I appeared in the boy’s troubled sleep that night.

 

 

#  T H R E E

 

 

The room was suddenly warm. Jongin shifted his weight on the feather mattress, tossed and turned to find a position that was comfortable. He ended up rousing from his sleep in the middle of the night.

He squinted at the darkness of his bedroom when he opened his eyes. Then he turned his gaze to the dying embers on the fireplace. It was too hot. He shuddered when a thunder caught him off-guard. It was pouring heavily outside as the wind howled unchecked. Kicking the eiderdowns away, he stared up at the ceiling.

It was a strange night. Dawndale had not seen a storm in what felt like forever. And he was covered in sweat. He turned his head to look out the window. He blinked. The tree branch that was tapping his window earlier was gone.

When he looked back at the ceiling, he froze into the mattress, all air knocked out of his lungs. His blood ran cold.

Woody lianas crawled over the ceiling, spread out like gigantic limbs to every corner. Even in the darkness of the room, he could see the skeletal boughs unfurling across the ceiling and climbing down the walls of the bedroom.

Although he wanted to call for help, he could not find his voice. Or his breaths. It was as though a tree were growing out of the ceiling of his room. He must be dreaming. And it was the strangest dream he’d ever had.

In heart of the lianas, he thought he saw a face emerge. One that resembled his own, as if he were looking into a mirror. Except that the reflection was made of wood. Like a tree. His limbs were woody boughs. As the fear subsided, curiosity overtook Jongin.

He stared at the face taking form in the lianas and the figure. It was him. What a dream…

The lianas clambered down the walls and crawled over the floors before scrambled up the sides of his bed. He tried to sit up, but he was paralyzed. Familiar eyes bored into his own. They were his.

Woody vines curled around his arms and legs.

 _Drown him…_ he heard his own voice say but it came from the tree-like figure on the ceiling. _The murderer._

Then an image of the Overseer, his greatsword in the clasp of his broad hands, flashed before his eyes. He heard the forest, felt the wind stroke his cheeks, smelled the damp loam. And then he felt a great sorrow. It was fleeting but it was an agony he had never endured. He clenched his eyes tight and gasped for air as a strand of liana wrapped around his neck.

When he opened his eyes again, sunlight was pouring into the room the window. The storm had died. Chirpy fowls were singing outside as the morning bustle roused the entire town.

Jongin jolted upright and panted, body and sheets bathed in sweat. What kind of nightmare was that? He shook his head and rubbed his face with his hands. The sound of the birdsong reminded him of the forest.

The forest which he had never been to. And yet, he could picture it quite clearly, as though the images were retrieved from his memories. Strange. Must be the dream. He shook the remnants of the nightmare away and sat up on the edge of the bed.

The door swung open and he jumped with a start.

“Goodness, Kataj,” he gasped at his sister, who burst into the room with a beam.

“Wake up, little brother,” she said. “You have a big day today.”

Oh, the meeting with the Jarl. He groaned. “Do not remind me.”

“Get ready. Father is waiting for you.”

“He’s coming along?”

“I think so. What do you plan to wear? Wear something nice. What about the fancy green overcoat?”

“I am not wearing that,” Jongin said and stood up. He swooned a little. He glanced around his room. He suddenly felt suffocated. He wanted to get out of here. Go back to the forest.

 _Back_ to the forest?

He clamped his hands over the sides of his head.

“Jongin? Are you all right?” his sister inquired, taking a gentle hold of his arm. “You look… ill.”

“I had an awful dream,” Jongin admitted. “Of a… a tree and… it was… alive. Sort of. It looked like me. I mean, it had my face and it could hear my thoughts. It even… spoke to me. But it felt like I was speaking to myself.”

Kataj pinned him with an incredulous look. “What?”

Jongin waved her off and started for the garderobe. “Forget about it. There tree branches and lianas. Everywhere. The dream felt so… vivid and real. It was unbelievable.”

“I’ve heard stories like that,” she murmured, taking a seat on Jongin’s bed. Jongin turned around and faced her with an arched eyebrow.

“Stories like what?”

“Dreams like that. My mother-in-law’s mother, also known as the town’s crazy woman,” she paused to roll her eyes. “used to tell stories like that. She even had a name for those trees that haunted people’s sleep.”

“Wait. So, it’s a thing? Trees haunting people in their sleep?” Jongin wanted to laugh. But it had happened to him, hadn’t it? And it had been terrifying.

His sister shrugged, pulling her braided hair to the front to fix the stray strands. “Yes. Apparently. It sounds like a whole load of codswallop, if you ask me.”

“No, tell me. What else did she say?”

“She even had a name for those trees. She called them the dryads.”

“I’ve read about dryads.” Jongin had read enough about all sorts of mythical creatures. “They don’t haunt people’s dreams, though.”

“One kind of dryad does. I forgot what they’re called. But they are the mean ones.” She sighed. “The old woman’s full of stories like that.”

Jongin swallowed. “Well, they’re not… dangerous, are they?”

“It’s just dreams, Jongin.”

“I know. But dryads are just… folktale. Spirits of the trees. Children’s stories.”

“Exactly.” She smiled. “Now, make sure you wash your hair. It looks like it’s been sitting in sweat all night long. Put some rose on your cheeks.”

“I’m not going to a ball. Besides, some rose on my cheeks is probably the last thing the Jarl is going to care about.”

“You know who might care about that,” she chimed, winking and simpering. Jongin looked at her confusedly.

That was when Duke galloped into the room with a bark and his tongue hanging out. “Here, boy,” Jongin greeted, but the dog came to an abrupt halt, the cordial look on his face faltering before he began to snarl at Jongin, baring all his teeth.

“What has gotten into him?” Kataj asked.

Jongin gaped at his dog. “Duke?”

Duke then eased up, the vicious snarl dying. He pounced on Jongin then and began to lick him. Jongin giggled, scratching the dog’s neck.

“Weird,” his sister muttered and left the room.

Heaving a deep breath, Jongin moved to the window and glanced out at the garden and the tree. A harrowing hollowness made waxed within him then. It almost felt like homesickness, not that Jongin knew much about that, anyway. He pulled away from the window and stepped into the bathing room.

* * *

“Don’t slouch,” his father reproved as they stood in the great hall, awaiting the Jarl. “Stand straight.”

Jongin straightened up, sucking in shaky breaths. He was nervous to meet the Jarl. Of course, he had seen the man many a time even before he had succeeded the previous Jarl. But he had never actually _met_ the man or spoken to him. And though his father seemed like he was unintimidated by the presence of the Jarl, Jongin was too overwrought to stand still.

“Father, must we really do this?” he muttered to his father.

“Hush,” the man quieted him. “You will do well to remember, that even if you get this position, your loyalty remains to our family. Understood?”

Jongin bowed his head and adjusted the collar of his brown overcoat. It was not as fancy as half of the overcoats he owned, one of which Kataj really wanted him to wear today.

“Lord Vincent Brantley, the exalted Jarl of Dawndale,” the Steward announced and Jongin stiffened, a rivulet of sweat trickling down his temple. He wiped it away. His father looked unruffled as always.

The Jarl lumbered into the great hall, clad in a simple attire that was barely fitting for a Jarl. But the circlet sitting around his head was garish. Jongin realized that he had never seen the man up close. The Jarl had an ash blond hair and sported a faint beard. Although he had a fit body and broad shoulders, he was nowhere near as strapping as his Overseer.

Speaking of whom, Jongin dreaded that he might stumble upon his overambitious admirer. But the Overseer was nowhere to be seen. Thankfully.

As the Jarl took his seat on the throne, Jongin bowed, mimicking his father’s actions.

“My humblest respects, My Lord,” Jongin’s father said to the Jarl, who looked so disinterested that he might fall asleep. “I am Keejhon. I am a tea merchant.”

“I know who you are,” the Jarl said with a sigh and jerked his head toward the Steward. “I do not usually deal with the commoners directly. You shall leave your plaints to my Steward.”

 _Ouch_ , Jongin thought, pinning his father with a sidelong glance. The man still looked unfazed as he slowly nodded his head with an expressionless face—his businessman face.

“I do not appear before you today with a plaint, My Lord,” he said. “We have actually come here today, seeking a job position in your council for my son.”

Jongin lowered his gaze the instant the Jarl’s turned on him.

“In my council?” the Jarl echoed, keeping his eyes on Jongin. “I never thought you and your family would be into anything other than a profitable trade.”

“My son has no knack for the trade,” his father said, and Jongin, frankly, found it a little offensive. It was not the worst insult his father had thrown at him, though. “My Lord, my son is quite skilled in the matters of civics, statecraft and diplomacy among other fields.”

Jongin had studied enough about politics to know how to counsel, but he had no experience. He loved literature and astronomy the most.

“Is that so?” the Jarl drawled. “Does he speak for himself?”

His father then looked to him. Jongin cleared his throat. “Yes, My Lord,” he said.

“Hmm. Do you want a position on my council?”

Jongin met the Jarl’s emerald eyes. “I do, Your Lordship.”

“Have you any experience being on a council?”

“No, My Lord.”

The Jarl stared at him for a moment. “Very well. My Counsel, or rather my late father’s, will question you further and if you are fit for a candidate, you will start as an apprentice first.”

Jongin noticed the faint smile that curled on a corner of his father’s mouth. “Thank you, My Lord,” the man told the Jarl.

“You may see my Counsel today,” the Jarl told Jongin.

“And I shall, My Lord,” Jongin said politely. The Jarl certainly looked much younger than Jongin had thought him to be.

“Take him to Olivar,” the Jarl ordered his Steward.

“Well, I shall leave you to it, then,” his father said and turned on his heel without another look.

Gnawing at his lip, Jongin looked back at the Jarl, whose eyes were mustering Jongin from top to toe.

“So, you are clever,” the man said.

Jongin’s tongue felt almost too thick to talk. He swallowed. “I do not think of myself like that… but I do believe I have what it takes to be a councillor.”

“Hmm,” the Jarl hummed and beckoned at the Steward, who stepped forward to Jongin.

“Follow me,” the man said and led the way. Jongin bowed one last time at the Jarl before treading behind the Steward.

The longhouse was impressive, to say the least. It was very spacious with many hallways with servants bustling in and out of them. Some of them regarded Jongin with a funny look but most did not mind his existence. He was suddenly glad he had not worn the green overcoat that would have caught too much attention.

“I should warn you,” the Steward said. “the Counsel is a very cranky old man. Being his apprentice would be the least enjoyable of things.”

Jongin tried not to be intimidated by that. There wasn’t a lot that could scare him off easily. He had a strong willpower and an even sturdier determination. His father was right. Jongin was almost twenty-two and was about to be married off to a woman twice his age. He did not want to reliant on his father anymore. He could stand on his own two feet now and become a man.

“Ah!” He jerked to a halt when the Steward screamed, springing back, almost bumping into Jongin as the four-legged beast leaped past them, stopping to toss a brief look at them. Jongin took a relieved breath, recognizing the tiger.

“For fuck’s sake,” the Steward cursed under his breath. “The goddamn tiger.” As the tiger stared up at Jongin with wide, curious amber eyes with its tail wagging excitedly at its back, the Steward took careful steps around it, holding a hand to his chest. “I cannot believe the Jarl let the Overseer keep a wild animal in the longhouse.”

Jongin followed the man’s steps, eyes remaining on the tiger that was gawking at him. It then jumped up to its feet and burst into a ferocious race down the hallway. Jongin would admit that it scared the living days out of him the first time he had seen the tiger at the fence around his garden with the Overseer. But now, after almost three weeks of being in the tiger’s presence, he had gotten used to it. The tiger was not even half as feral as Duke.

“He does not look like a wild animal,” he commented to the Steward.

“Nobody believes that but the Jarl. He will, too, when the beast finally kills someone in the longhouse. Just like when its master does.”

“The Overseer?” Jongin asked.

“The man’s known for his raging temper. Did you know he killed two hundred men in a battle?”

Jongin chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I’ve heard.” Something fiery shot through his veins, then. It made blood pulse in his temples as a great but brief sorrow spread through his chest before it quickly died. He thought of the forest for no reason. He thought of a tree. A particular tree that he might have seen in his dreams last night. It was cut down.

What was going on with him…?

“He is usually good with his composure, but believe me, men who have seen him lose it… never actually lived to tell the tale,” the Steward said. It should have intimidated Jongin. But all that it did was anger him. With not only detestation for the man, but also a hunger for retribution. Vengeance. It was as though he wanted to make the man pay for his sins and villainy.

And he barely knew the man. Strange. He did not hate the man so much until this morning.

“He’s in there,” the Steward said once they reached a room at the end of the hallway. “Pay him a compliment. He likes that.”

“What’s your name?” Jongin inquired.

“Malthe. But you won’t have to know that. The Jarl is about to fire me.” He frowned and sighed.

“Fire you? Why?”

“I’m old. That’s why you’re here, son. He’s getting rid of the old council,” Malthe said with a shrug and walked away.

Jongin sucked in a long, deep breath and entered the room with a knock.

“Who knocks?!” came a gruff, furious shriek from inside that had Jongin freezing in the doorway. “I told nobody should bother me today!”

What sort of Counsel sounded that grouchy?

“Um, good morning,” Jongin said diffidently, walking into the room to find an old man leaning over a desk, studying a tome.

“Leave,” the Counsel said.

“I’m… Jongin. The Jarl sent me.”

The old man straightened up and turned around to face Jongin with a scowl, wrinkling his forehead. “The Jarl sent you. What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Jongin gritted his teeth. “I’m… here to apply for a position in the Jarl’s council. His Lordship said that I should become your apprentice and if you deem me suitable for the job, I would get it.”

His sheepish grin was answered by a mean glower. The old man folded his arms over his chest. “So, you want to work for the Jarl. Who are you?”

“I just told… you. I’m Jongin,” he muttered, face growing hot.

“That’s supposed to mean something?”

Jongin rubbed the back of his neck. “My father is Keejhon.”

“Ah!” the Counsel exclaimed, scoffing. “The rich tea merchant! You’re his son? What are you looking here?”

“Looking for something that I can do so that my father does not think of me as useless.” Jongin shook his head, hanging it. “I’m sorry if I’m wasting your time.”

“Well, kid,” the man said. “You know the way out.” He turned his back to Jongin again.

Jongin opened his mouth but closed it again when he could not find the right words. When he did not move, the Counsel looked back at him.

“What are you waiting for?”

“I really need this job,” Jongin said. “No one would hire me in Dawndale because I don’t have the muscles in my fingers. Or the skills.”

The Counsel arched a grey brow at him. “And you think you have what it takes to be on the Jarl’s council?”

“Maybe,” Jongin said, shrugging. His gaze shot past the Counsel and landed on the tome laying on the desk. He recognized the foreign characters and symbols written on the pages. “Is that the Wongelian language? I had only read two books written in the language. They have very fluid syllabary and imposing allegories.”

The Counsel stared at him with a for a moment. “You can read Wongelian?”

“Yes,” Jongin said. “It’s one of the five languages I can read. I can only speak two, though.”

“Impressive,” the man said stoically. “What have you learned about diplomacy and the responsibilities of an advisory board?”

“I suppose not much,” Jongin said. “Just the theories my governess taught me. But I am willing to learn.”

“Hmm.” The Counsel scratched his grey beard. “We’ll see about how much you can assimilate in a week. My name is Olivar. You can address me as Master Olivar.”

“Yes, Master Olivar,” Jongin mumbled.

“Do not get excited, boy. You won’t last the week.”

Pursing his lips, Jongin lowered his gaze.

“Now, get out of my sight,” the man harrumphed.

“Where should I go?”

Olivar turned to glare at him. “Fine. Go fetch me the Tome of Eastern Ocean Sea Lane from the library.”

The ocean… Jongin suddenly felt a little out of breath, but he recovered almost immediately.

“I’m on it, Master Olivar,” he said with enthusiasm. His heart was already pounding in excitement. This was his first errand. His first task. He turned around instantly to leave but paused with a hand on the door handle. “I, um, don’t know where the library is.”

“Find it!” Olivar barked.

“Yes, yes. Of course,” Jongin blurted out and hurried out of the room. Shutting the door behind him, he leaned against it for a while to catch his breath. Oh, God. It finally dawned on him that he was doing this for the first time. An apprenticeship. A chance to stand on his own two feet. And he had his father’s approval to all of this. As excited as he was, he was nervous. He was in the goddamn longhouse.

He started down the hallway first. Although he wanted to stop one of the servants to ask for directions. But they kept zooming past him like they would do anything to avoid talking to him.

Letting out a big breath, Jongin decided that he would go on an adventure and find the library himself. After all, this could be his workplace from now on.

The walls were made of wood, Jongin noticed. But they did not smell of the forest. He lifted his fingers and dragged them along the planks. They felt smoother than the bark of a tree. Like the one in the backyard of his house. A terrible feeling of longing bubbled up in Jongin’s chest.

The nightmare. It still haunted him.

“Ouch,” he gasped when he walked into someone. Someone tall, big, and hard. Someone who smelled like fresh musk, sandalwood, and sweat. A scent that had Jongin’s heart racing faster.

He raised his head and gaped up at the bearded man he had crashed into. His heart sank to the pit of his stomach instantly before he noticed the firm grip on both his arms that prevented him from tripping.

“Let go of me, bastard!” he growled as a hand sprung up to shove away the burly beastlike man, who was clad in a lose unlaced nightshirt and black trousers, no boots and with tousled, bed hair.

And he did not know what had gotten into him then as he lunged at the man with a tight fist and almost struck the face before the Overseer caught his wrist and gave it a harsh twist that made Jongin squirm weakly.

“Ah,” he let out and it almost sounded like a child’s whine. The sudden and unreasonable rage ebbed, replaced by something like confusion as he continued to whimper at his wrist being crushed in the other man’s big hand. “You’re hurting me.”

His wrist was released at once and the Overseer took a step back with an aghast look. “You,” he said in a low, rough breath that sent chills down Jongin’s spine. He had never heard the man talk to him before.

God, did he just try to punch a soldier—a bloody Overseer, who’d killed two hundred men—in the face? Jongin was snarky, snobbish, yes. But he had never possessed a spirit for aggression. Where did that come from? And that, too, for no reason!

And in that moment, as he mustered the dishevelled appearance of the man, who had been courting him for the past three weeks, Jongin was not sure if he wanted to see the man dead or undressed. The nightshirt was loose but not loose enough as its sleeves snared around the man’s elbows. The flimsy fabric stretched around a thick mass of corded muscles in his arm when he raised a hand to run it through his dark shock of hair. Jongin’s eyes then fell on the deep cleft of the man’s chest and fine hairs that were dusted over the thick pads of sinews on his chest.

Jongin felt a swelling in his ribs and it throbbed harder with every heartbeat.

 

 

##  e n t r’a c t e

 

 

He had not only killed my sister. But he had also killed countless men of his own kind. I wanted to see him suffocate. The monster. However, a novel feeling surged through me as the boy, whose spirit mine coexisted with, leched after the murderer, undressing the man with his eyes.

Not that I would have minded had the man not struck down my sister’s spirit. I tried to power through the boy’s lusting spirit. Weakly and almost unsuccessfully. Inhabiting a human’s body was not the same as inhabiting a tree. My spirit was not as strong. I realized that I was beginning to cave to the boy’s spirit. I could not let that happen.

I thought of the Oath I had taken. I had to fulfil it. Otherwise, I could never return to the forest, to my tree. And the longer I tenant the boy’s body, the more I would become him as our spirits would learn to live in harmony and become one.

When I picked the boy, whose spirit I thought to match mine, I believed he detested the murderer. It was not long after joining his spirit did I realize the boy possessed some strange complexes, which I could not understand. I could not exactly read his mind, I could only comprehend his spirit. But it became apparent that he wanted to torture the man, insult him, and use him to his own amusement.

 _He is not good enough for me_ , I thought. _Not me._ _Him._ I was already starting to think of the boy as myself. _A soldier. Poor. Dirty. Crass. Uncultured. Uneducated. A heavy-handed boor. Father would never approve._

And I contributed to the boy’s spiteful spirit. _And a murderer._

Our thoughts were starting to become one.

 

 

#  F O U R

 

 

Adrian roused to the late morning’s warmth and a set of sharp teeth tugging at the hem of his nightshirt, prompting him to wake up.

“Baashere,” he groaned drowsily, shoving the tiger’s face away. “Get off me.”

Though his pet leaped off the bed, it proceeded to pull at his sleeve in an attempt to get him out of the bed. Adrian sighed, ignoring Baashere as he threw an arm over his eyes to block out the blinding sunlight.

Baashere released his sleeve eventually but he growled at Adrian, annoyed. Removing the arm from his eyes, Adrian propped himself up on his elbows and glared down at the snarling tiger. His head spun lightly. Glancing to the empty mead bottle, he realized how much he had had to drink last night so that he could forget about the boy and get some sleep.

It did not help much. The mead had indeed helped him sleep but it had not stopped the boy from appearing in his dreams.

“I am screwed, aren’t I?” he muttered to the tiger as he sat up on the edge of the bed and cradled his pounding head in his hands. God, it was almost noon. He was slacking off his job.

As he began to rise so that he could wash up, shave and go see Vincent, Baashere clamped his teeth to Adrian’s sleeve once more and started yanking him toward the door.

“What has gotten into you today, Baashere?” Adrian huffed grouchily as his head continued to throb. Letting go of his shirt, the tiger hopped over to the open door and looked back at him.

Adrian arched an eyebrow at him before following him out of the bedchamber. Baashere did not seem like he was alarmed or agitated, but he sure did look excited.

“What is it, boy?” he asked. “Did you find a hunk of meat somewhere? Could it not wait until I’d taken a piss?”

Baashere stopped a couple of times to make sure Adrian was following him. A couple of servant girls giggled into their hands when they walked past Adrian, leering at his almost see-through nightshirt. Adrian would have enjoyed the attention if only he had not been receiving days on end from every single one of the servant girls and chambermaids whenever they saw him. Vincent had even remarked on it, saying that he had found the one reason to hate Adrian’s stay here in Dawndale and particularly, the longhouse—Adrian was stealing Vincent’s show from the ladies.

Not all them looked bad. Had this been Greenmire, Adrian would not have thought twice before taking one or even all of them to bed. But now… Now, things were different. His heart and body did not lust after the ones who wanted him. Instead, they pined for the one that looked at him with nothing but disgust. Which was refreshing in some ways, compared to the admiration and reverence he had been getting for a while now. He needed the reminding that he could be a warrior who saved Greenmire its hold, but he was still a servant with no real property to his name.

It would have been so much easier if he had fallen for a simple servant girl. Or boy. But no. He had to fall for the son of the wealthiest, most prejudiced merchant in all of Dawndale. Well, his son was no different.

Not really.

Adrian had stalked the boy enough for the past three weeks to know that he was the only man the boy was heaped scorn on. And that was justifiable. No one, born into riches, like the boy would want a man with nothing—a diseased man with nothing—but a list of murders he had committed to woo them.

Just as he was lost in his thoughts, Baashere wandered into the hallway that led to the Counsel’s study. Adrian did not particularly like the man. He was too loud, too cranky and unnecessarily wordy. Sometimes, he spoke with words Adrian did not even understand. Like the word ‘irrevocable’. Vincent, last week, had laughed when he noticed the confused look about Adrian’s face when the Counsel had said that word. Sure, Adrian was unschooled and unread, but he was not an idiot, at least. Or ‘ignoramus’ as the Counsel had so sophisticatedly put the other to describe Adrian the other day.

That was another problem. Almost all of the times he had seen him, the boy had had a book in his hands. It was clear that he had to be well-read. No one in their right mind would settle for an ‘ignoramus’ like Adrian.

“I should stop wallowing in self-pity,” he said to Baashere. The tiger stopped and turned to stroke its head against Adrian’s leathered hand before it skipped back toward the Counsel’s study.

Did the old man die? Why would Baashere be so happy about that?

Sucking in a deep breath, Adrian quietly followed. It was then when he ran into a lean, lithe figure that was almost knocked over before Adrian caught the skinny arms. Steadying the boy he had crashed into, he opened his mouth to ask if he were all right, but he was cut off as a hand shot up to thrust him back.

“Let go of me, bastard!”

Barely staggering a step, Adrian was quick to seize the fist that was flung in his way. A fire shot through him as he gripped the wrist, almost wanting to snap it. But then, like the sand spilled to stamp out a fire, those beautiful dark, pleading eyes turned Adrian immobile.

“Ah, you’re hurting me,” came the soft voice that had been haunting him in his sleep and his every waking moment. He let go of the wrist at once and stared guiltily at the bruising bronze skin as the boy brought the wrist to his chest and lightly rubbed it with his other hand.

“You,” Adrian let out, the sides of his jaw hurting like he had kept it open for hours. The boy raised his eyes to meet Adrian’s briefly before they travelled down to his exposed chest. Adrian tugged at the laces of his nightshirt and fastened them at once before the boy could notice the protruding veins there.

The boy glanced away, swallowing hard and Adrian almost lost the last silvers of his sanity as he watched the boy’s cheeks pinken. And when he curled his plump, red bottom lip between his teeth, Adrian’s headache worsened. He took a step back, still gaping at the boy.

Baashere was springing around them, circling them with an excited tail. The boy, finally noticing the tiger’s presence, gasped, eyes popping out in terror as he pinned himself to a wall at his side. A gentle squeal and whimper escaped the boy as he clenched his eyes tightly and begged for the tiger to go away.

Adrian tried to snap out of his own trance. He looked down at his hands instead. He had… touched the boy. And it didn’t kill him. Well, not all of him, at least.

He wanted to grin, yell at the world that this had been his greatest achievement. He wanted to tell the boy right then and there that it was the realest thing he had touched.

“Get your filthy beast away from me!” the boy yapped, eyes still tightly clenched.

“Oh,” Adrian finally said, in a breath. “I’m sorry. He can be… a little too excited. Baashere, enough.” He caught the tiger’s collar and dragged it away from the boy before it could lick up his hand.

Pulling away from the wall, the boy straightened his overcoat and cleared his throat, lifting his sharp, black gaze to scowl at Adrian. “I was talking to the tiger,” he spat, crossing his arms over his chest.

Adrian blinked, eyebrows rising. “Oh…”

The boy then scoffed, rolled his eyes and carefully started past Adrian. What was he doing here? In, what was now, Adrian’s home?

He opened his mouth to ask but could not find his voice anymore. So, he scratched the back of his head, the other hand gripped around Baashere’s collar, as the boy walked away. He did not get far, though.

He came to a stop at the mouth of the hallway and looked to his left and right confusedly.

“What are you… doing here?” Adrian questioned in a voice that embarrassed him. He sounded like a teenage lad talking to his crush for the first time! What was wrong with him, seriously?!

The boy did not answer, although his shoulders stiffened. “I’ll go this way,” he muttered quietly and followed his right.

Adrian licked his lips and looked down at Baashere, who blinked languidly up at him. “I don’t know what to say,” he mumbled.

The tiger huffed through its flaring nostrils.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Adrian groaned and started after the boy. He kept a safe distance from the merchant’s son, who glanced around him constantly, seeming lost.

He then slowly turned his head halfway and looked at Adrian sideways. “Stop following me,” he hissed.

Adrian halted in his tracks and glanced down at Baashere once before starting back after the boy. “You are where I live. I am not following _you_.”

The boy stopped and spun around to glower at Adrian. “Well, I work here now.”

That froze Adrian altogether. “W-Work… here?”

“Yes,” the boy spat cockily. “Ugh. Why am I even talking to you? Where the hell is the library?” he grumbled to himself.

“Three hallways down, second door to your left,” Adrian said.

The boy glared back at him. “I did not ask you… bastard.” With that, he stomped away.

Adrian lifted a hand to the nape of his neck to rub it as a foolish grin crawled onto his lips. God, this felt like a dream. Ironically, the boy of his dreams was under the same roof as him. And he had _touched_ him. For real. He had _talked_ to the boy.

When he looked down at Baashere at his side, the tiger was staring at him with a smug, tired look.

“Shut up,” Adrian grumbled, although he could not hide his smile, and headed back to his quarters. Baashere followed.

* * *

He joined Vincent for lunch. Baashere was hungrier than he was. Well, Adrian was hungry for something else. After taking a bath to clean every inch of himself and trimming his beard, he had even worn his best shirt—he did not many good shirts—under his Overseer uniform. He had kept an eye out for the boy the whole way to the great hall.

“There’s something different about you,” Vincent remarked as Adrian took his seat at the table. “And you weren’t here for breakfast.”

“I overslept,” Adrian said, reaching for the potato breads. Tearing a hunk of it, he held it down to Baashere, who grimaced and turned his face away from it. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“You got drunk like a goat, didn’t you?” Vincent asked, looking a little bemused. “What made _you_ drink?”

“I’m a soldier. I drink. I don’t need a reason to drink.”

“Yeah. But you’re… you. I’ve never seen you drunk.”

Adrian shrugged and tossed Baashere a slab of veal meat. “Consider yourself lucky.” He gazed across the hall at the jostling servants.

“See something you like? Should I send her to your room tonight?”

Adrian grimaced at Vincent. “I’m not… looking anyone.”

“Oh!” the Jarl then gasped. “You combed your hair! And washed it!”

“Vincent, your potato bread is getting cold,” Adrian mumbled, stuffing a lump of candied fig into his mouth. “So, are you hiring new servants?”

“What?” Vincent asked. “I don’t know. That’s Olivar’s job. But he hadn’t informed of hiring any new servants. Why?”

Adrian shook his head. “I don’t know… I saw a… a boy. One that dressed like he belonged to the titled.”

“A boy? Ah, you mean the tea merchant’s son.” Vincent sipped from his wineglass. “You met him?”

“I… bumped into him in the morning.”

“A bit of a poncey, isn’t he? Like his father. You should have seen his face. He was looking at me like I was beneath him. He truly is a tough nut.”

“I do not like any part of that. Do not say that again.”

Vincent smirked. “I have no intention of being beneath the jackass, don’t worry. His son, however, must have soft bones. He was so jittery and nervous.”

“What is he here for?” Adrian inquired.

“He wants to be a councillor,” Vincent answered. “If he could outbid Olivar’s service, he might as well be my new Counsel.”

“You should be wary with that, Vince,” said Adrian. “The boy’s father is a businessman. A filthy rich one at that. He could buy a bigger army than what you can afford.”

“That’s claptrap. He would not try to usurp a Jarl.”

“Why does his son have an interest in politics? Isn’t his entire family all about the trade?”

Vincent licked a droplet of wine from his lip. “I do not care. You told me to build my own council and I’m looking for candidates.”

Adrian did not argue. He was not going to complain about having the boy around. “Just think it through. Besides, the boy looks too young to be a Counsel.”

“And my father I am too young to be a Jarl. Do you want to go hunting later this afternoon?” Vincent then said. “I had the fletcher make me silver arrowtips. They cut like a knife.”

“Sure, Your Highness,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

“You look good, by the way,” Vincent commented, smirking. “You’re smiling. Like actually smiling.”

Biting his lip, Adrian looked away. He did not want to give anything away.

For goodness sake, he was a thirty-four-year-old man swooning over a boy he was besotted with. It was ridiculous.

* * *

They did go hunting that afternoon and they stayed in the forest until evening. Baashere had a good time chasing wild hares and chevrotains. Vincent managed to strike down a fox. Adrian kept an eye on the horses and failed to participate much.

“Something in your thoughts?”

“Huh?” Adrian let out, glancing over to the young Jarl. “What?”

Vincent stopped to smile back at him. “You seem a little preoccupied. What’s it about?”

Adrian shook his head, lowering it as he trudged over a fern. “Nothing of such sorts.”

“Are you sure? You haven’t seemed like yourself all day. You are thinking today.”

“I always think,” Adrian argued meekly. But he was embarrassed. He was not keeping his emotions well under wraps. It was bothering him that he would not need to head over to the boy’s house this evening and silently watch him from the other side of the fence. Instead, the boy would be there when he went back to the longhouse today. At least Adrian hoped he would.

“No, you do not,” snorted Vincent. “What is it? A woman? It’s always a woman when something’s got a man brooding like that.”

Adrian wanted to swallow his tongue. “And what made _you_ the expert on such matters?”

“I have had my fair share of women trouble.”

“Like that time you slept with Lady Grisella and her husband found out?”

Vincent laughed. “Father tried so hard to keep the scandal from reaching the public ears.”

Adrian kicked a root out of his way, keeping a firm grip on the horses’ reins. “What if it is?” he asked. “A problem like that.”

“Well, my friend,” the man said, leaning against a tree, dropping the longbow to the ground. “You have come to the right place. I knew you would not be drinking and primping yourself for no reason unless you’ve completely lost your mind. Tell me. Who is she?”

Swallowing, Adrian momentarily glanced back at Baashere, who was wandering away with his ears stuck back in concentration. He must have found another rabbit.

Adrian cleared his throat. “A… comfortable person. With luxuries I do not own. I cannot even match…”

“Oh,” Vincent breathed. “Does she know?”

Adrian nodded. “Yes. But… my feelings are clearly not returned.”

Vincent’s blonde eyebrows furrowed into a frown. “Is she a fool? Who in this world would not want _you_?”

“I’m flattered,” Adrian scoffed. “But I am not exactly the sharpest shed.”

“You are sharp. In… some aspects. Aspects that count.”

Adrian wanted to wipe that smug grin from Vincent’s face. “Why are we talking about feelings like we’re a couple of old women?!” he growled and started to yank the horses away.

“Adrian, stop.” Vincent caught his arm. Adrian stopped to meet those earnest green eyes. “You’re not… in actual love, are you?”

Sighing, Adrian closed his eyes for a moment. “I think I might be. It’s so strange. I want to… to be with that person even when I know I can’t. Do you know how that feels?”

It took Vincent a moment to answer. When he did, he shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’m sorry. But if she doesn’t love you, she doesn’t love you. You can’t force someone.”

“I know.” But boy, would he be the luckiest man alive if his love was ever returned…

“And it’s not like you wouldn’t get another woman. Adrian, you are a man sought by every single woman in Dawndale. And when I mean every single woman, I mean every single one of them. Why does your heart ache for the one you can’t have?”

“I am still figuring that out,” Adrian sighed. They were interrupted by the rustling bushes. Adrian turned around to see Baashere emerging from a copse with a tiger cub in his mouth. “Baash…” he trailed off, jaw slacking as he dropped to a crouch before his pet.

Baashere carefully set the tiger cub, that barely had its eyes open, on the ground and licked its grubby fur.

“That’s a…” Vincent whispered behind Adrian. “Oh, my God.”

“What have you got there, boy?” Adrian muttered to Baashere, keeping his eyes on the stirring cub on the ground as it tried to push itself up on its paws. When it tried to skulk away from Adrian, Baashere snarled at the cub angrily and snared the back of the cub’s neck between his teeth once more before taking it back to Adrian.

“Is it abandoned?” Vincent asked, crouching beside Adrian.

“Must be,” Adrian said and picked up the cub into his arms. Baashere leaped up onto his hind legs excitedly and leaned his front paws onto Adrian so that he could look up at the cub. “Can we take him home?”

Vincent shrugged. “What’s one more, am I right?” He stroked the cub’s head. The cub yawned. “And it looks like your tiger really wants to keep it.”

Adrian looked down at Baashere. “You want to keep it?” He lowered the cub back to the ground. “Then you can carry it home with us.”

Baashere picked up the cub, latching his teeth onto the cub’s neck. And he was ready.

Well, Baashere needed someone when Adrian was gone.

When they reached home that evening, Adrian had given the dirty cub a bath before Baashere had licked it dry. When a servant came into his room, bearing a platter of raw chicken meat and a bowl of goat milk under Vincent’s order, Baashere stayed put, which was out of his character. Instead, he picked up the cub and brought him to platter. The cub ate at once, greedily, leaving no traces behind. Baashere gave its head a lick as a praise for eating it all.

 

 

#  F I V E

 

 

He had found the library and the tome the Counsel had asked for. But his errands had not ended there.

After several laps to the library for some scrolls, tomes, and journals, the gallery for some letters, the kitchen for some sweetrolls and ale, Jongin was finally allowed to take a rest on the chaise longue in the Counsel’s study while Olivar quilled a missive.

Jongin sat there quietly by the fire, wondering if he were relieved for the day so that he could go home. He would not mind a hearty meal and a long restful sleep on his bed.

But another part of him did not want to go home so soon. It wanted to see the Overseer again. And strangle him.

What had gotten into him, he pondered. He had not been _this_ hostile toward the man, even though the latter had not been doing an exceptional job at not annoying Jongin with his presence.

“In a situation where a war is waged,” the Counsel said all of a sudden without looking up from the letter he was writing. Jongin sat up straighter. “would you advise the Jarl to go to war or tell him to elsewise? If he goes to war, he has a fair probability of winning and losing it. If he doesn’t, he will be overthrown, and his throne will be occupied by the enemy.”

Jongin took a breath. “I would advise him to go to war if he cares more about his crown rather than the lives of his people. I would suggest otherwise if he values his people more.”

Olivar looked up at him and stared for a moment. “That was the most ridiculous answer I’ve ever heard.”

Jongin bit his tongue.

“No Jarl cares about the people,” the Counsel said. “And the Jarl would be looking for decisive opinions from his Counsel. Not a scale to measure the integrity of his character.”

The old man was right. That did sound like a stupid answer now that Jongin replayed it in his mind.

“Answer me this,” Olivar said a moment later. “In a situation where the Jarl is requested to lend his army to aid the neighbouring hold in a battle, what would your counsel be?”

Jongin answered immediately. “That would depend on the possible benefits the Jarl’s hold could obtain from aiding the neighbouring hold.”

Olivar cocked an eyebrow. “Very well. What if there are no benefits apart from the promise that the neighbouring hold will come to the Jarl’s aid should he need one in the future?”

“Then I would say go for it. There is no promise for security greater than an alliance.”

Olivar smirked at that. “A quote by the great visionary Thom Wenceslas.”

Jongin grinned. “I’ve read all of his work.”

“Then you can’t half bad, kid.” The man rose from his desk. “Go home for the day. I expect to see you here at dawn. We shall see how good you are at sorting the Jarl’s letters.”

Jongin stood up and bowed. “Thank you, Master Olivar.”

He could not wait to tell his father all about his first day. Of course, he doubted the man would be much proud about the menial, insignificant things Jongin had done all day. But it was still something.

However, he continued to feel a dash of disappointment, as though he had not exactly accomplished what he had come for today.

When he got home that evening, he found a stalk of flower on the doorstep. Scowling, he stepped on it before entering the house.

* * *

“How was it in the longhouse, darling?” his mother was the first to inquire during dinner.

“It was great, Mother,” Jongin said and noticed the stink-eye his father threw in his way. He wiped off the smile and dropped his gaze to the pea soup his sister had made.

“Did you talk more with the Jarl?” his father asked gruffly.

“No,” Jongin answered. “Just his Counsel.”

“What about the Overseer?” Kataj asked and hissed when Jongin kicked her foot under the table. Fanin grinned. “Ouch.”

“Did you meet the Overseer?” his mother asked. “You should keep your distance from that man. I haven’t heard many good things about him. A rowdy.”

Jongin could not agree more, although he, too, had only _heard_ about such things and had never seen the man do anything like what his history recited. In fact, he had to be the world’s most patient man to put up with Jongin’s tyranny and insults.

“Father, we are going to the Springtide Hoedown this weekend, aren’t we?” Kataj asked.

“You leave the next day,” their father said. “Are you sure you want to?”

“Of course. I hear there will be dancers from Silkspire this year.”

“Jongin,” his father then called sternly. “I hired a carriage for you to take you to the longhouse and back.”

“I… don’t need one, Father,” Jongin said. He did not usually say no to his father, but it was bad enough that everyone in the longhouse pegged him for a hoity-toity, toffee-nosed git. “It’s only a few feet away. I can walk. We don’t need the unnecessary expense.”

Though the older man gave Jongin a black look, he did not say anything more. He would save whatever money he could, even though he was already rolling in it.

Jongin rubbed his sore wrist unconsciously.

“Oh, dear!” his mother gasped. “What happened to your arm? It’s all bruised!”

“Nothing,” Jongin murmured. “I can’t remember.” The lie did not sound half convincing, but he did not care. “I should get to bed early. Master Olivar is a very strict man.”

“Do you think this is a good idea?” he heard his mother ask his father as he stormed out of the dining room and headed up to his room.

Instead of going straight to the bed he had been coveting all day, he wandered to the window. He pushed it open. The storm from last night had left an aftertaste that reminded Jongin of the forest. He stuck his head out the window and inhaled the crisp evening air. He laughed a softly at the wind that caressed his cheeks. He had never felt so free. It was as though he could finally breathe.

Before he knew it, he was clambering up the ledge of the window. He had done this once few years back. But when his father found out, Jongin had spent the next three days with belt marks on his bum as a result from merciless welting.

But tonight, he was a free spirit. Which he never had been before.

He climbed onto the branch outstretched toward the window. It was shaky but sturdy enough to hold his weight. His heart raged against his chest as he crawled over the branch before he perched on it, carefully swinging his legs down. He braced himself with a hand raised to the tree and gazed up at the star asterisms speckled against a canvas of black.

“Hyades,” he said up at the sky. It was his most favourite star cluster. It was said that the cluster was really close to the Sun. Jongin wanted to be a star in that cluster so that he, too, could be that close to the Sun.

 _I want to be free,_ he thought. It was not a thought he often had. Because he always knew he would have to do what his father approved. But…

_I want to be free. Like the wind. Like the leaves dangling on the branches on the trees. Like the spirit of the trees._

And then the familiar sorrow visited him once more. It felt as though he was grieving over someone he had lost. He shook the risible thought and bowed his head to look down at the grass that collected evening mist.

His eyes slowly flitted to large silhouette at the fence. He gasped, mouth falling agape. No tiger this time.

The man smirked at him from where he stood. He looked so… so in love.

For a long moment, Jongin did not look away from the Overseer. He wanted to throw a rock at him. He glanced back into the window and found Duke staring at him with his tongue hanging out.

Exhaling a heavy breath, Jongin started climbing down the tree. Which was a bad idea because he did not have a lot of experience climbing trees. Losing his footing, he tripped and dropped to the ground with a thud that hurt his back.

“Ah,” he groaned, wincing hard.

It did not take the Overseer two climbs before he was on the other side of the fence with an arm curling around Jongin’s waist.

“Oh, my God,” Jongin rasped, panting against the bigger man’s neck as he was helped up to his feet.

“Are you all right?” the Overseer asked, a firm grip around Jongin’s waist.

“Let go. Let go!” Jongin snapped and shoved the man away. “Get out of my house!”

“I’m not _in_ your house,” the man said, frowning. “I’m… sorry.”

Jongin chewed on his lower lip as he took a step back from the beast. He could still feel the force of the man’s grip around his body. It left him a little breathless.

“What do you want?” he asked. “Can you just leave me alone?”

“I…” the man began but trailed off miserably.

“Get lost.” Jongin started to turn around but stopped when the man spoke again.

“My name… is Adrian.”

Jongin scowled at him. “You need to leave before my father or mother sees you.”

When he spun around, the man said, “What should I do?”

Jongin stopped. He scoffed and faced the soldier. “Kill yourself.” He watched the man’s face wilt completely, ashen and dead.

“What?”

“Drown yourself,” Jongin said. He did not know where it even came from. But he wanted to see the man drown in the ocean in complete misery.

“Do you really hate me that much?” the murderer asked, as though it were a question he needed an answer to.

“Let me remind you of something. You are a soldier. A servant. I live in a house twenty times bigger than the tiny box of a room the Jarl gave you as charity for licking his boot. If you ever thought that even for a second that I would look in your way, you had to be the most delusional man to ever live. And let’s not forget that you are a well-known murderer all over Arengol. It was presumptuous of you enough to believe that I would accept your courtship, but do you really think I would like to be the lover of a mass murderer?”

Adrian looked like a kicked pup then. He nodded his head and turned around to leave without another word.

Jongin felt the swelling in his belly again. “Adrian,” he whispered to himself as the man owning the name leaped over the fence again before disappearing into the darkness of the alley.

_Adrian…_

* * *

He did not see the Oversee for the next five days. Not in the longhouse and not by the fence in the evening when Jongin was in the garden, reading.

“How are these errands going to help me learn how to counsel?” he asked Olivar, who looked up at him from his books and scowled.

“Am I the apprentice or are you?” the Counsel asked.

Jongin lowered his head. “I am, Master Olivar.”

“Then I suggest you get on with your tasks without shilly-shallying.”

“Yes, My Lord,” he muttered and hurried out of the study to find the Treasurer’s office and retrieve this month’s bill of tax collection. Over the week, he had gotten a hang of the hallways in the longhouse and he did not get lost as much as he used to. He had not been able to see the Jarl either. Olivar was keeping him busy and though Jongin believed he was not learning much, he was at least getting used to the atmosphere in the longhouse. And he got to read Olivar’s books during breaks.

As he tried to find his way to the Treasurer’s study, he came across a large, spacious arena, whose doors were open. He heard the sound of metal clanging against wood. Out of sheer curiosity, he peered into the room and found an entire wall dedicated to weapons. There were spears, swords, halberds, axes, warhammers. They spooked him a little.

His gaze then fell on the sweat beads that trickled down the flexed back muscles and massive shoulders. His mouth turned dry as his eyes wandered down the cleft on the sheening back.

Adrian had his hair tied in half, a leather strip tied around his right hand that was gripping the greatsword that must have been slicing through the wooden block standing there. So, he had not drowned himself after all. Then what was the reason he had not been coming to see Jongin after that night?

Jongin could not look away as the man lifted an arm and swung. The blade struck the wooden pole down with a single swing.

A devastating image flashed before his eyes. A tree, struck down the same way. Jongin’s body vibrated with anger.

He moved away from the doorway and leaned against a wall when Adrian started to turn around. Clenching his fists, he stomped away, looking for the Treasurer again.

Once he had finished all of Olivar’s errands, he was ordered to follow the man to the great hall where he was stood before the Jarl.

“What is it, Olivar?” the Jarl asked, seated in his throne with the Steward at his side.

“My Lord,” Olivar began. “I hope you had heard of the hoedown that takes place in the town tomorrow night.”

“I have.”

“It would be the perfect opportunity to make your first official public appearance,” said the Counsel. “You shall give a speech. Make yourself known to the people. Reassure them that they are in good hands.”

The Jarl seemed like he was considering it. But then he scowled. “What’s there to reassure them about?”

This the Counsel hesitated to answer. “You are a new ruler. The people do not know you or your reign.”

A sigh came from the Jarl. “Very well. Make arrangements for it.”

Olivar bowed. “I shall, My Lord.”

“Hold on,” the Jarl halted him when the old man began to walk away. “How has your apprentice been?”

Jongin’s heart skipped a nervous beat as he glanced to Olivar expectantly.

The Counsel pinned Jongin with a sceptical look. “He is a quick learner, My Lord,” the man said and Jongin almost smiled in relief. “A little clumsy for someone who had had two waltz instructors.” Jongin regretted telling the man that piece of unnecessary information about himself yesterday when Olivar asked him if there was anything interesting about him. “But he knows his things.”

“Is he a good candidate to be on the council?” the Jarl asked.

“Only time will tell,” the Counsel answered. “If he is looking to replace me, then I will say that he is the worst applicant.”

The Jarl smirked. “You are always clever with your words, Olivar. Go now.”

“Come along,” the Counsel hissed at Jongin and ushered him out of the great hall.

* * *

That night, Jongin had the dream about the tree again. Only this time, he was in the forest and he was the tree. A dryad. Though he could see himself, he could _feel_ that this was where he belonged. As a free spirit of the forest.

 _Men who destroy the spirit of a tree shall be punished. I will not leave him be until he is punished._ Jongin knew the thought was not his own. But it sounded like it was. _A life for a life._

The scene shifted as the forest melted into a vast expanse of ocean. He felt a warm, firm hand on his back as his front was pressed up against a torso of solid muscles. A beard and hot breath grazed his cheek.

Instead of drowning the man, he was kissing him.

Jongin woke up with a gasp and a body drenched in sweat. Climbing out of the bed, he walked over to the window and glanced out to the fence. Much to his dismay, he did not find Adrian there.

Perhaps the man had given up after all.

All of Jongin, surprisingly, felt a great disappointment.

* * *

The next morning was filled with the discordant the preparation for the Springtide Hoedown brought. Not only was the town bustling but so was Jongin’s family. While he was getting ready for work, Kataj and Fanin tried on dresses to wear tonight. Even though Jongin had an opinion, he did not voice it. Because his father would not approve of men giving out fashion advice to women.

“I’m off,” he said and started for the door.

“Wait, baby brother,” Kataj called. “How do these earrings look?”

“Fine,” Jongin muttered.

“You didn’t even look. You said the Jarl would be there tonight! I must look my best!”

“I don’t care about what earrings you wear, Kat. And I can assure you, neither would the Jarl,” he snarled, and his sisters fell quiet for a moment. He sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m going to be late. Master Olivar does not tolerate tardiness.”

“What is going on with you?” asked his younger sister. “You’ve been moody all morning.”

“Yes,” Kataj added. “You even gave Duke the cold shoulder at breakfast.”

Jongin felt bad about that. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Is it about the Overseer?” she cooed with a wry smirk. “Did he show up again last night?”

“No, he didn’t,” Jongin quickly said. “He did not, okay?”

“Oh, my God,” Fanin let out, brushing her hair. “Is that why you’re upset? He did not show up.”

Jongin groaned. “I did not say that. I’m leaving. I will see you tonight at the hoedown.” He did not wait for any more of his crazy sisters’ remarks as he raced downstairs. He found his parents in the drawing room and bade them goodbye before hurtling out the front door. He stopped to look at the dried and withered flower he had stepped on several nights back. Something ached inside him as he looked at the pitiful thing. He picked it up, crushed and brittle petals and all before tossing it into the shrub. Then he felt bad about tossing it away.

“Ugh,” he grunted to himself and marched on, gripping the strap of his satchel that contained his packed lunch, a book, and a pouch of coins, which he was embarrassed to spend because he hadn’t earned them. They were earned by his father.

_I shouldn’t be feeling bad about it. The flower._

It was his own voice that echoed in his mind, but the thought did not seem like it belonged to him. Was he going crazy over this man? Possibly. Was that what the man had wanted? To drive Jongin mad?

_He is a soldier._

_And a murderer. I must stop thinking about him._

_And his eyes._

Oh, those eyes.

“Hey! Watch out!” a man, drawing a wagon, shrieked when Jongin almost crashed into it while crossing the road.

“Sorry!” he called out to the glowering man. If his father was here, he would have chided Jongin first for not looking where he was going and second for apologizing to a penniless commoner.

When he arrived at the longhouse, the Housecarls recognized him and let him in. One of them was very attractive, Jongin noted. He always smiled at Jongin and boy, did he have a brilliant smile. He had dark olive skin, a mass of black hair, deep brown eyes, a sharp nose, a perfectly angular jaw, and hard-bodied build with wide shoulders. He did not look much older than Jongin. He was the one person who did not look at Jongin with a strange, sceptical grimace.

Had he still been a teenage boy, Jongin would have swooned by a smile like that from a handsome, strapping man like him. But it was just a cordial smile. It had no meaning.

_It’s not the kind of smile I get from… him…_

Him. That thought sounded more like his own.

Adrian showed up at the fence every evening with that smile and he always left with a disappointed frown.

Caught in his thoughts, Jongin accidentally let his satchel slip from his shoulder. The handsome Housecarl picked it up before Jongin could.

“Here you go,” the man said, holding the satchel out. Jongin accepted it. He should not be talking to a mere Housecarl. His father would not approve. But he supposed this was his workplace now and that meant he was no different than these servants, in spite of what his father told him about him being above everyone else in the longhouse, save the Jarl.

“Thank you,” he muttered, anyway. “I’m Jongin.”

“I know,” the Housecarl said, his smiling eyes briefly flitting to the other Housecarl, who was glaring at Jongin.

“We all know who you are,” the scowling Housecarl spat, rolling his eyes.

“Oh,” Jongin let out.

“I’m Sin,” the handsome Housecarl introduced himself. “And that’s my half-brother, Alecc.”

The names sounded as foreign as Jongin’s own. “Half-brother?” he exhaled and glanced at the angry Housecarl. He did have Sin’s hair, although he wore it slightly shorter, and eyes. But he had a fairer skin. Jongin had never really paid much attention to this other Housecarl. He supposed no one would if he was standing next to his atrociously attractive brother. Alecc looked considerably older, not bad on the eye, and also carried a big, well-muscled body.

“I should, um, go inside,” Jongin murmured and walked into the longhouse.

“You don’t have to be so cold all the time, Alecc,” he heard Sin say to his brother.

“And you don’t have to flirt with every attractive thing that moves, Sin,” countered Alecc.

“I’m not surprised you’d confuse politeness with flirting as you have no experience with either,” Sin scoffed.

 _Interesting_ , Jongin thought. Alecc thought he was attractive.

* * *

As his first task of the day, Master Olivar sent him to fetch some fig buns from the kitchen. The old man was hungry. And while he was doing that, Olivar ordered him to ponder about a feasible solution to a problem in which the people hate their new ruler.

Jongin thought about pushing his father’s agenda unto the Counsel. _Get rid of the Jarl and appoint a new Jarl through democracy. Let the people choose._

Although he was not sure why his father believed the people would choose him.

 _I have to find him,_ he then thought to himself. _Adrian… I should find him._

Why?

He hated that he was having these ridiculous conversations with himself.

In the kitchen, he sought the cooks and requested what the Counsel had ordered. The cooks grumbled under their breaths as they gathered what was demanded. Jongin waited, quietly gnawing on the insides of his cheeks.

That was when he heard a sharp gasp from one of the cooks before all of them retreated to a corner. He turned around to see the Overseer’s pet tiger strut into the kitchen like it owned the place. It looked different. More serious. Tired. The carefree jumpiness was all gone.

Jongin had never seen it scowl the way it did right now. Then he noticed the little tiger cub hopping excitedly behind the tiger. It stopped, looking up at the cooks in the kitchen. With a sudden apprehensive look, it then crawled under Adrian’s tiger’s legs and silently prowled, keeping its head ducked.

“Shoo! Shoo!” a cook hissed at them, but she quickly withdrew with a frightened face when the bigger tiger snarled furiously at her. It was protecting the cub.

Jongin stood stock-still, even though he knew the tigers were tame. He remembered Adrian calling the bigger one Baashere.

“Baashere,” he mumbled and immediately regretted it when the tiger looked in his way. It started toward him. Jongin swallowed, unable to move. But then Baashere only rubbed his nose against Jongin’s hand before he turned to one of the wooden tables in the kitchen. He growled at the cub to stay put while he stood up on his hind legs to reach the table. Clinging to its edge, Baashere sniffed around before he found the bowl of meat. He grabbed a mouthful and climbed back down.

The cub was excited again as it pounced on Baashere, teeth playfully biting into Baashere’s shoulder. With a low growl, the older tiger ordered the cub to follow and they wended their way out of the kitchen.

Finally breathing again, Jongin glanced at the cooks, who were gawking at him.

 

 

##  e n t r’a c t e

 

 

I felt the confusion. The want. The yearning. The disappointment. And I was no longer sure that they weren’t my own. My spirit had begun to become a part of him.

I would see the murderer drown.

But more than that, I just wanted to see him.

 

 

#  S I X

 

 

“I am aware that you are chary of trusting a new reign. But I will do everything in my power to make Dawndale a better, more prosperous town. I will make it safer than it currently is.” Vincent turned away from the mirror and faced Adrian, who was leaning against the wardrobe with arms crossed against his chest. “How was that?”

“You already seem nervous,” Adrian remarked.

“I _am_ nervous,” Vincent groaned. “It is the first time I’d be talking before a crowd this big! And my father gave great speeches, Adrian. The man spoke like he could persuade even the most circumspect men.”

“I know,” Adrian sighed and pulled away from the wardrobe. He took hold of Vincent’s shoulders and said, “And that’s because he spoke with confidence, my friend.”

Vincent exhaled exasperatedly and withdrew from Adrian to pour himself a cup of wine. He downed it all in one gulp. “I am going to disappoint everyone.”

“You will not,” Adrian said, although he did not believe it himself. The people did not expect great things from their new Jarl. They were not going to believe anything he said.

“Ah! Let us discuss this no more.” He turned to Adrian again. “Has there been any progress between you and your mystery woman?”

Adrian bit his lip. “No.” It hurt a little to say that. “I am… stepping out of the whole deal.”

“What? Why?”

“Because it was made clear for me that I stand no chance.” He picked up the sheathed sword from the ground. “I will leave you to get ready for the hoedown.”

“Oh, yes.” He started pacing the chamber. “Do you think I should wear something grand?”

“That is up to you.” With a bow, Adrian took his leave.

He returned to his quarters and found Baashere and the cub on his bed. The cub was playing with a rock Baashere must have gotten him for a plaything.

“So, he’s yours now, huh?” Adrian said, removing his uniform jacket. Baashere blinked tiredly, his tail thumping against the pallet languidly. The cub shifted its attention from the rock to Baashere’s tail. He pounced on it and Baashere, surprisingly, did not chide the cub to behave.

Adrian plumped on the bed and unfastened the leather around his right hand. The veins were getting worse and over the past couple of days, he had been feeling spasms of numbness in his hand that was almost all purple now. Pretty soon, he would not even be able to get a firm grip on his sword with this hand.

Unlacing his shirt, he examined the black veins spreading out like the roots of a tree on his chest. They had gotten worse over the week, too. Adrian had been sleepless, and he had been drinking more than he should. He was not sure if he were more miserable about the fact that he was dying or about what the boy had said to him the other night.

But Adrian gave up. He did not know why he was trying in the first place. Perhaps he wanted to earn somebody’s love—love in its rawest, truest form—before… Well, before...

He hung his head. He should go see a healer soon, even though he knew none of the brews and simples they’d give him would help. But perhaps they might help him sleep a little better.

He needed to start forgetting about the boy and focus on his duties. He needed to get Vincent to a stable position before…

And that meant, he needed to find potential candidates to replace him as the Overseer. He would have to interview the Housecarls. Of course, and lie to Vincent about why he was doing it.

He raised his dying hand to scratch Baashere’s head. The cub, taking note of what Adrian was doing, left Baashere’s tail alone and jumped into Adrian’s lap. Laughing, Adrian scratched the tiger cub under his neck.

“You know, we haven’t decided on a name for him,” Adrian told Baashere. “What about… Kezar? Kezar.”

Baashere scowled.

“Fashir?” These were common names in Greenmire. Baashere snarled now. “Okay. What about… Tigo? Tigo.”

This made Baashere happy. He settled his head on the bed and closed his eyes for a nap. Adrian smiled down at the cub.

“Tigo it is.”

Tigo let Adrian scratch his belly.

* * *

The people were charging with elation in the town as the evening fell. While drums thundered and lyres played, bards and rhymesters sang. The sweet smell of cheap ale, the heat from the huge bonfire, and the clinking sound of tankards flowed through the streets.

Adrian had missed it. As a child, his mother would bring him to see the bonfire after she was done with work. Sometimes, she would not go home with him. He’d silently stand by the bonfire with an ear of corn in his hand while watching his mother being escorted away by some drunk man. He had no trouble finding his way home, though. And in the morning, his mother would always be here to wake him up. Some mornings, she would do it while crying softly.

“Keep a weather eye open,” Adrian ordered the Housecarls that would be accompanying the Jarl tonight as they waited on Vincent outside. “Stay alert.”

“Do you think something would happen tonight?” inquired one of the Housecarls. One of the two Vincent liked ogling. Alecc.

“No,” Adrian said. “But it is his first public appearance. We must be ready for anything.”

“We won’t let anything happen to him,” said the other. Sin. Adrian arched an eyebrow. Perhaps one of the two brothers would make a fine candidate for an Overseer. They both seemed loyal to Vincent.

The Counsel and the Steward appeared before Vincent. He looked good, clad in a deep blue coat, a black embroidered tunic, and gold medallion. “Must we do this?” he groaned when he saw Adrian.

Adrian smiled. “It will be over before you know it. Your carriage awaits.”

Vincent grimaced at the gaudy carriage. “I’ll ride a horse.”

“My Lord,” The Counsel began to protest. “You shouldn’t.”

“I will ride a horse. It is bad enough I have to wear all this,” the Jarl snapped. “Get my horse.”

As a Housecarl hurried to do his bidding, Vincent turned his attention to the two exotic-looking Housecarls. He smirked at them both. While Sin smiled back, Alecc lowered his gaze, although his neck turned red.

What was that about, Adrian wondered. So, he asked Vincent when they out of the others’ earshot.

Vincent shrugged. “An eventful night led us to this,” he said nonchalantly.

Adrian cocked his eyebrow. “What exactly is _‘this_ ’?”

He shrugged again.

“Vince.”

“I’m fucking them, all right?” Vincent hissed under his breath. That was not at all what Adrian wanted to hear his friend say. Ever. He wanted to wash his ears. That was… gross. And he thought Vincent did not do men. Whatever. It was none of his business. And he wanted to hear no more of it. “Well, more like they’re fucking me. But yeah.”

As much as Adrian wanted to keep his mouth shut, he could not help it. He was intrigued. Vincent was not at all as clueless as he might have thought him to be. “Them? Both… of them?”

That made Vincent blush.

“God, Vince,” Adrian grumbled.

“I’m not picky. And they have no trouble sharing. So, why not?”

That made Adrian’s eyes bulge out. “You mean both… at the _same_ time?!”

“Yeah. What else?”

God, he was so glad for the Housecarl that interrupted the conversation when he showed up with Vincent’s horse.

Alecc helped Vincent mount the horse, even though the latter needed no help. Vincent gave the man’s hand a squeeze before he smirked in Sin’s way.

This was ridiculous, but who was Adrian to judge? He was in love with a boy who despised his guts.

Speaking of the boy, Adrian missed him. He had been actively avoiding running into the boy in the longhouse.

He mounted his own horse and ordered the half of the Housecarls to lead the way while the other half followed behind.

The town was thronging with drunk, carousing, and singing people. When some of them noticed the Jarl, they stepped aside and made way, bowing at the man.

“Should I wave?” Vincent asked, frowning.

“You are not the High Queen!” the Counsel yapped in frustration but quickly quieted down when Vincent scowled in his way. “I mean… No, My Lord. You need not wave. It is their obligation to bow before you.”

Adrian could already see the thick palls of smoke from the bonfire wafting into the air.

“It’s the Jarl,” people began to gasp and whisper as more of them noticed Vincent’s presence. Some of them even gaped up at Adrian and cowered away with frightened looks.

Upon arriving in the middle of the town where more people were frolicking around the bonfire, almost all of them with a tankard in their hands, Vincent and Adrian dismounted their horses. Adrian tried not to stare at Sin’s hand that lingered on Vincent’s waist as he helped the latter climb down his horse.

This was not how Adrian was hoping for Vincent to collect friends on his court. But if it was working, he was not going to complain. The more allies Vincent had on his side, the better. Although Adrian was sure Vincent might be genuinely attracted to the half-brothers and was not just whoring himself out.

Dancers were performing on the rostrum. Tavern tables and benches were strewn around the rostrum. Men who sat at them drinking had promiscuously dressed women on their lap.

Adrian smiled. “This reminds of a scene I had to participate in almost every night in Greenmire,” he told Vincent.

“Greenmire sounds like paradise,” Sin commented from behind after overhearing their conversation.

“For uncultured goons, perhaps,” Counsel Olivar chimed in.

Vincent looked far too strung out to say anything. He anxiously glanced around at the people gawking at him.

“Vince, you’ll be fine,” Adrian reassured him, giving his arm a light squeeze. “Just say what you want to say to them. I know you care about their welfare, even if you deny it. You want this more than anything. You want to be a good Jarl.”

“I’m not, though,” Vincent mumbled, and Adrian barely heard him over the music and singing. “And they know it.”

“They will give you a chance if you gave them a chance. Be confident.”

“My Lord!” a commoner exclaimed and approached Vincent. “We were not expecting you here tonight.”

Vincent looked to Olivar and then back to the commoner. “I wanted to join my people for an evening of merrymaking,” he said, mustering a nervous smile.

More men and women approached Vincent and bowed. “Welcome, My Lord,” another man said, holding an arm out to a table. “We have nothing but ale.”

“Ale would be fine,” Vincent said. The people looked as nervous as he was, but they were smiling.

Adrian gave tacit orders to the Housecarls to form a parameter around the Jarl. As Vincent took his seat at the table, he invited the Counsel and Overseer to join him. Adrian told him he’d just stand. He needed to be alert.

“Relax, Adrian,” Vincent said once he was finally at ease. “Drink some.”

He was going to refuse but it would not be a bad idea to have a taste of the ale served to the Jarl. He took the tankard from his friend’s hand and took a swig. When he was certain it was not poisoned, he handed the tankard back.

“Only a sip?” Vincent asked, looking up at Adrian.

“I had to make sure it’s not spiked.”

“Oh, my God!” he growled.

The Counsel paused drinking his ale with his eyes popping out.

“And what if it was? You would have died,” Vincent told Adrian.

Adrian ignored him. It was not like he cared about that anymore. When he lifted his head, his gaze landed on the most well-dressed man in the crowd, who was approaching the Jarl’s table with his entire family.

Adrian’s heart instantly sank.

The boy was staring right at him with those wide, shocked eyes.

“My Lord,” the boy’s father, the tea merchant, greeted Vincent.

“Ah, you again,” Vincent said.

The man adjusted the fur cloak on his shoulders and cleared his throat. “Fancy seeing you here, My Lord. I thought this was a hoedown for the commoners.”

“Then what are you doing here?” Vincent shot back. “I figured you did not think of yourself as a ‘commoner’.”

Adrian could not take his eyes off the boy. And neither could the boy take his off Adrian. At his sides stood a child and three women. One of them had to be his mother while the other two looked fairly younger. The older looking of the two had the child in her arms.

“This is my family,” the man said. “My wife, my daughters, my granddaughter and my son, whom you’ve already met.”

“Yes,” Vincent said. Counsel Olivar was looking at the boy, too. “My Counsel’s apprentice.”

“Well, I will take no more of your time this evening.” With that, the tea merchant shepherded his family away. Adrian stood still with his heart hammering upon his ribs. He wanted the boy to look back. Just once.

His sisters were whispering something to him. And that made him turned his head halfway around. When their eyes met once more, Adrian no longer cared if he lived or died. His heart felt full. After so long.

The boy turned away again, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“Alecc!” he yapped at the Housecarl, who hurried to his side at once.

“Yes, sire.”

“Take over for a moment,” Adrian ordered and knew for a fact now that Alecc would not mind standing behind Vincent for a while. Or forever.

And Vincent certainly did not mind as Adrian hastened away, jostling through the crowd.

He looked for the boy in the crowd. For a longer than a moment. He spotted the rest of his family but failed to locate the boy. Why was he even looking for the boy right now? To be insulted and turned down again?

As a younger man, many had told him that he was an impatient man. He had been. But after the Great Greenmire Battle, things had changed. Adrian was stuck with an incurable disease and that changed too many of his perspectives. He was more patient than monks now.

Tonight, he did not want to be patient. He did not want to spend another sleepless night, thinking about the boy.

When he could not find the boy, he turned to the ale with a heavy heart. The heat from the bonfire was starting to drench him in his own sweat. He removed the uniform jacket and grabbed the first bottle of ale he found. After making certain that there were enough Housecarls stationed near Vincent, Adrian headed to the back of the rostrum for a quick retreat, draining half of the bottle on his way.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he found the boy perched on a wooden ledge behind the background screen of the rostrum. He was drawing aimless patterns on the dirt with a stick. Adrian had half the heart to just silently slink back into the crowd.

But then he froze again as the boy’s head slowly rose and turned in his way. Adrian swallowed his thick spit. The boy jolted up to his feet with a small scowl etched on his eyebrows. He looked angry and confused. And even a little curious. He then averted his gaze to the ground, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth.

Adrian chugged the rest of the ale and wiped his mouth on the leather around the back of his hand before hurling the bottle to smash on the ground. The next thing he knew, he was closing the distance between them, lunging at the boy. His calloused hands flung up to grab hold of the boy’s delicate face. He barely took a breath as the boy parted his lips to gasp. He was instantly silenced, however, as Adrian crashed his lips onto his and kissed him firmly, ruthlessly.

All that he could feel was the heat of Jongin’s skin, the softness of the petals that were unmoving against his lips. His beard prickled the boy’s cheek while his rough hands grazed the sides of the boy’s face. One of them lowered to curl around the back of Jongin’s neck. Adrian had never held anything so gently. He feared that he might break Jongin.

Jongin…

A name he had never dared utter or even think until now. He had worried that he was not worthy to even say the boy’s name.

The slight movements of Jongin’s lips upon his own tore the rest of the world away from him. This moment, he belonged to Jongin, to the kiss, to the hands that were curling around his shirt at the front, to the trembling breaths, to the earthy scent his skin smelled of. He smelled like the forest. Like damp loam, fresh grass, tree bark. Like the wind, the air, the Sun.

Death could not win against _this_.

This was everything Adrian had dreamed of. And more.

The boy’s lips were soft, a little wet, and they quivered. Like the petals of a blooming blossom. His fingers were fisted around Adrian’s chest, feeling the hard thumps of the man’s heart. Adrian fluttered his eyes open, just slightly, to see the boy, who had his own eyes clenched tightly. He broke the kiss then, leaving room for only one breath each, before he kissed the boy again—this time, smashing his mouth against Jongin’s lower lip.

 

 

##  e n t r’a c t e

 

 

I tasted a hint of ale in his breath, its sweetness on his lips. His beard scratched along my face, leaving my cheeks red. His large hands were rough and gentle at the same time as they cupped my face and neck. He smelled of musk and sandalwood. I had never imagined that I would experience anything like this. And I was not sure if it even me he was kissing, but I felt it. I felt the blood that coursed to my nether regions. I felt my heart quicken. I was running out of breath. And I realized I was now breathing. I was being kissed.

And it destroyed me.

With every ounce of might my spirit could conjure, I pushed through my trance.

 

 

#  S E V E N

 

 

It destroyed him.

Jongin forsook every last silver of his sanity as he lost himself in the kiss. He had never been kissed before. And he certainly could not have known about how brutal it would actually feel.

It was killing him and at the same time, he had never felt more alive. It was cruel. He stood on the tip of his toes, head facing up, hands caught in the man’s shirt. He did not want to let go. It was a rough kiss, even though Adrian’s lips were barely moving against his.

“Jongin,” he heard and felt Adrian breath into the kiss as he finally pulled back.

“You know… my name,” Jongin let out, dazed and jaded, barely finding his voice. He was not sure he was even breathing anymore. He did not care.

“Of course, I know your name,” the Overseer muttered, sliding a hand along a side of Jongin’s jaw before caressing the skin below his bottom lip with a thumb. Jongin was momentarily lost in those ocean blue eyes.

_Oh, my God._

“Oh, my God,” he rasped then. What was he doing?!

His hands resting against the Adrian’s chest turned hard as he shoved the man away. His fingers caught in one of Adrian’s shirt laces accidentally tugged at it, snapping it and tearing his shirt open by the chest as Adrian staggered back.

“How could you—!” he began to shout but paused as his eyes fell on the deep bluish veins projecting from the man’s sternum like a hundred streams of black ink. They were almost reaching his collarbones and they looked deadly.

Jongin lifted his astonished gaze and met Adrian’s conflicted one. Then they turned sorrowful. Lacing his shirt back up again, Adrian sighed.

“Jongin,” he said, eyes boring into Jongin’s. “I’m sorry I did that. I’m sorry. I… I shouldn’t have.”

Yes, he shouldn’t have. But Jongin had let him. He had let a filthy soldier kiss him. And he had liked every second of it.

But right now, he was more concerned about what he had just seen.

“What—”

He was cut off by the Jarl’s booming voice as the man climbed onto the rostrum and said, “Good evening, my beloved people of Dawndale.”

Jongin looked back at Adrian as the Jarl proceeded with his speech. “Y-You shouldn’t have…” he mumbled, bringing his fingers to brush against his slightly throbbing lips.

“I shouldn’t have,” Adrian said, swallowing hard. He then abruptly turned away, his exhausted eyes sharpening as he glanced at the crowd. “Get out of here,” he told Jongin without looking at him before he broke into a sprint.

“Huh?” Jongin panted, puzzled and wanting to kill himself. And if the mortification was not enough, he was now curious about why Adrian’s chest had looked like it belonged to a poisoned corpse.

“He kissed me,” he muttered to himself in disbelief and brushed his lips with his fingers again. His cheeks and chin were still hot from the friction of Adrian’s beard.

 _He kissed me_ , he heard himself think.

And what did he mean by ‘get out of here’?

Jongin retreated from the back of the rostrum and found Adrian vaulting up the steps of the stage where the Jarl was giving a speech about something that had the crowd looking confused.

“Vincent,” the Overseer growled as he cut the Jarl off in the middle of speech and caught the man’s arm before yanking him out of the way of an arrow that plunged into Adrian’s shoulder instead of the Jarl’s head.

The crowd broke into chaos. People scampered in all directions, screaming.

“Jongin!” his father crowed when he found him. “Where the hell were you?! Come!”

“What’s going on, Father?!” Jongin cried, letting his father haul him away while everyone scuttled for safety. “Wait!” He stopped and broke his arm free from his father’s grip to look back. Mercenaries.

Clad in all black, seven of them coursed through the discordant crowd that was in an uproar. The Housecarls charged at them, swords drawn. Striking one of them down, a mercenary shot toward Master Olivar and the Steward.

“No!” Jongin gasped and bolted toward them, even though he had no idea what he was going to defend himself with.

That was when Adrian leaped off the rostrum, drawing the mighty greatsword from its sheath before driving it through the mercenary’s chest. Jongin’s stomach dropped as he watched the silver sword jut out the mercenary’s back, bathed in blood.

Lifting a booted foot to stomp on the mercenary, Adrian yanked the sword out of his chest. As the man dropped dead on the ground, the Overseer spun around to slaughter the remaining mercenaries while the Housecarls escorted the Jarl away.

Jongin saw the monster Adrian was feared to be by everyone. As he drove the sword through a mercenary’s throat before beheading him, Jongin saw the murderous rage in the man’s eyes. The anger. It was terrifying.

By the time he had razed every last one of the mercenaries down, Adrian was out of breath and he lost grip on his sword, letting it fall from his leathered hand. He lifted the hand then and stared for a moment too long before he turned around and met Jongin’s horrified eyes.

Blood. There was blood everywhere. His shirt, his chest, his face, his hands. The man Jongin had been kissing only a while ago was now mantled in blood.

_Murderer…_

“Jongin,” the man began to say in a diffident voice. But Jongin did not wait to hear more as he shook his head, biting on a sob, and ran back to his father.

* * *

His stomach continued to churn and lurch even as they entered their house. His father locked the door securely.

“Oh, you found him,” his mother gasped lifelessly as she hurried down the stairs and enveloped Jongin in her arms. His sisters joined them.

“Where were you?” Fanin asked. “Father told us to go home, and we couldn’t find you.”

“The… Jarl was… attacked. At the hoedown,” Jongin exhaled in short, almost inaudible breaths.

“What?!” Kataj rasped. “Is he all right?!”

“Yes.” Jongin slowly looked up at his old man, who looked unfazed and composed as ever. “Father,” he let out. The man met him with a black, daggering look. “It wasn’t… you… Was it?”

“What are you talking about, Jongin?” his mother chided. “Go. Freshen up and get some rest.”

Only one man in all of Dawndale had the resources and the means to hire mercenaries. And the motive to do it.

His father scowled.

“I told you last night that the Jarl would be there,” Jongin said, still in a trancelike state. Everything had happened so fast. The kiss. The ambush. The blood. “And… and tonight…”

“Are you accusing me of hiring those mercenaries?” his father spat.

“Are you denying it?”

The man said nothing as he pursed his lips and clenched his jaw. Jongin turned to his mother, who looked just as guilty.

His eyes finally gave in as a drop of tear rolled down his cheek. “I can’t believe this,” he whimpered and shoved past his sisters and mother.

“Jongin,” his mother called.

“Did you _not_ see what his Oversee did to those mercenaries tonight?!” he cried on the middle of the staircase. “He tore them in half! He would do worse to you, Father! If he knew, your fate would be worse!”

“Jongin, do not speak that way to your father,” his mother rebuked, although she looked confused. “Your father would never do such a thing.”

“And you strung me along,” he panted, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “You are a selfish, stingy man.” With that, he raced up to his room.

Slamming the door shut behind him, he dropped on his bed and broke into a sob into the pillow.

He heard a whine before he felt a warm tongue lick up the back of his hand. He brought his head up to look at Duke staring miserably at him.

There was a knock on his door before it creaked open and his older sister called his name quietly.

“Go away,” Jongin snarled at her.

“Jongin,” she sighed and entered the room, ambling over the bed. “Are you all right?”

Jongin did not answer as he buried his face in the pillow again. It was overwhelming. As much as he wanted to hate his father, he could not. The man was his father after all.

And as much as he wanted to hate Adrian, he found himself circling back to the kiss. And then the bloodbath.

 _He is a murderer…_ his conscience told him. _He is a murderer and I had never been kissed before… He kissed me. He kissed me._

His sister ran a hand through his hair, perching on his bed. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

“I hate myself,” Jongin mumbled into the pillow, weeping some more. “I hate myself so much.”

“No, you don’t. Because you have no reason to. You’re a good person, Jongin.”

Jongin shot up and glowered at his sister. Then he cried again, dropping his head in her lap. “I let him kiss me.”

“What?”

“I almost kissed him back. I let Father manipulate me. I almost caused the Jarl’s death and I know this would not be the last time something like this happened. What would happen to me if the Jarl found out? If… If Adrian found out?”

“Jongin…” His sister heaved a breath. “You kissed whom?”

Jongin was too embarrassed to even say it.

“The Overseer?!” his sister gasped. “You kissed? He kissed you?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” he wept. “I… I don’t know how I had let it happen. I was upset that he had stopped coming. And then at the hoedown, he looked at me like… like something I could not even comprehend. And I hate him so much. I want him to drown.”

“Drown?” Kataj said, sounding shocked. “Why… drown?”

Jongin raised his head from her lap. “I don’t know,” he snivelled and wiped his face with the sleeve of his tunic. “I have no idea why. I keep saying it but… but I don’t think mean it.”

 _I don’t… Do I?_ That was his mind voice that often spoke without his command.

“That’s a relief. You cannot possibly want a man dead because he’s in love with you,” his sister said.

“He is not just any man, Kat! He is a… a murderer.”

“He is a soldier. That is his job.”

“He is a soldier,” Jongin repeated after her. “with so much blood on his hands.”

“Blood of the men who tried to destroy peace. He was protecting our land, our rulers.”

Jongin fell silent.

“Look, Jongin. I understand that your pride would hurt for you to admit that you have a penniless soldier for a lover. But you’re forgetting that our father is also a murderer. What he did tonight… was… unacceptable.”

That crushed Jongin. The man he was constantly trying to win approval from was indeed a murderer. “He wanted a power vacuum so that he could manipulate the people into electing him to be their leader,” he said. “It’s diabolical.”

“Well, Father _is_ a businessman.” She shrugged. “But I don’t think he’s that evil. You’re just tired and confused. I’m sorry you had to go through all that tonight.”

Jongin sniffled and closed his puffy eyes for a moment.

“Did you talk to him after…”

Jongin shook his head. “Well, he apologized for the… for the kiss.” He relived it once more. It left him breathless.

“Was it your first?” she asked.

Jongin did not answer.

“You know, Jongin… It would not be the worst thing to be with a soldier.”

“Yes, it would. He kills people, Kataj! Lives mean nothing to him! And… And Father. What would he do if he finds out? A man and a soldier at that.”

_He kills souls. He kills spirits._

“Okay,” his sister breathed out. “Don’t think too much about it. The Jarl still lives. And… there’s nothing you could do about the kiss. If you don’t like him, you don’t like him. That’s it. He should respect your decision and not harass you anymore.” She rose from the bed. “And you need to stop seeking his attention.”

“I am not—”

“It’s weird, Brother. You take pleasure in hurting him, knowing very well that he loves you. Just because you can and just because he lets you. Just because… he’s beneath us all. He’s still a human being.”

“Stop it.”

“Jongin, I’m just saying. He loves you.”

“Kat, I said stop it. I don’t want to hear any of this.”

“A man with his history won’t take two minutes to take you. But he is letting you push him around. Yet he still comes back.”

“Kataj,” he growled now.

“Just think about it. Even if you loathe him, you want to keep him around because you take some kind of sick pleasure from seeing him hurt.”

Jongin choked on another sob. “No!”

His sister sighed. “Be humane, Brother. Even to your enemies.”

She kissed his forehead before leaving him and Duke alone in the darkness of the room.

_I take pleasure in hurting him… He hurt so many… I should enjoy this. But I do not._

Jongin cried himself to sleep that night and he dreamed of the forest and Adrian. This time, he pined for the man rather than the forest.

* * *

He didn’t leave his bed the next morning. Duke stayed at his side. He would snarl at Jongin every now and then for no reason. Jongin figured it was probably because he still stank of last night’s ale at the hoedown, sweat, and the scent of the man who had kissed him.

He relived the kiss over and over again. A surge of self-hate washed over him every time he thought of that kiss. And then after a while, he was in an even worse mood when he realized he was beginning to sulk.

He wondered how the Jarl was doing. The man must be pretty shaken up. Jongin sat up and planted his head in his hands. He owed the man an apology. No, he owed him more than just an apology. But if he let the man know of what part he had to play in the attack last night, Jongin would be hanged along with his scheming father.

Deciding that he had to at least see the Jarl in person and make sure the man was all right, Jongin climbed out of the bed. He bathed, shaved and put on something that did not scream attention-seeking.

He then stormed out of the house without telling anyone. He’d get yelled at for that later probably, but he could not care about that right now.

On the streets, people were gossiping about the unfortunate events of last night. Most of them called the Overseer a hero, a saviour, a mighty warrior. Some said the Jarl had it coming and that he was too naïve. They might not be wrong. All of them speculated who might have sent the mercenaries. The prime suspects were the Jarl of Everwhite and the Jarl of Freshbrook—the two towns neighbouring Dawndale. The Jarls had never been very fond of the Jarl of Dawndale.

Jongin found Sin and Alecc in the usual spots outside the longhouse, guarding the doors. Neither looked very cheery today. Especially Alecc, who looked extra grim. So, Jongin did not chat them up as he silently wove through the doors. He gazed ahead at the throne past the firepit that had never been lit for as long as Jongin had been here. The throne was empty.

The entire longhouse was sombre and quiet. Even the servants were bustling today. Jongin silently made his way to the Counsel’s study, where he found Olivar nursing a brass cup of honey mead in his hand. He turned to greet Jongin with a nod of his head.

“Good morning,” Jongin muttered, closing the door behind him.

“Good morning, son,” Olivar said.

Removing his satchel, Jongin cleared his throat. “How are you… holding up?”

The Counsel took a sip from his cup. “I saw what you did last night.” Jongin waited for more. What exactly did the man see? How much? “The way you lunged for me when the attacker charged.”

“Oh.”

“It was very brave of you.”

“Well, I didn’t need to do anything. Adr—The Overseer had it covered.”

“He was doing his job. You, on the other hand, were very daring.”

Jongin was not sure how to react to that. He had not earned many compliments. Especially not from old, wise men.

“How is the… Jarl?” he inquired, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Being stupid,” the Counsel groaned.

Jongin blinked. “What?”

“He feels challenged!” He slammed the cup on his desk. “So, he’s throwing a ball.”

“What?” Jongin said again.

“Perhaps it is about time I retire,” Olivar grumbled. “I can no longer put up with such foolery.”

“A ball? Like… a dance? A party?” asked Jongin. He liked the idea of a ball. They never happened in Dawndale. Not like the ones where only nobilities attended. The fancy kind. With ballgowns, shirtfronts, and showy jewelleries.

“He wants his ‘enemies’ to know that he cannot be fazed. Gah!” The old man rubbed his forehead as though to make the wrinkles go away. “Does he know that the instant his Overseer is out of the picture he is doomed?”

Jongin wanted to stop talking about the Overseer. Everything about the man made him think of the kiss and then the blood. First, the snowflakes in his eyes that froze Jongin’s heart. Then, the fire in them that scorched every last inch of Jongin as he cut through the mercenaries without an ounce of remorse.

“You are his Counsel. Does he not listen to you?” Jongin asked.

“His father, the old Jarl, may his soul rest in peace, did. But this one… Perhaps my counselling methods no longer for this whippersnapper.” He grunted. “And what irritates me the most is that… he is not entirely wrong. He couldn’t afford to appear to be weak and intimidated by the assault. He needs to come off as a strong ruler.”

“So, you didn’t put up much of a fight on the matter of the ball?”

The Counsel sighed. “This is the first attack Dawndale has seen in quite some years. The old Jarl was very careful about the enemies he made. Vincent, on the other hand, has no enemies. Not beyond the walls of Dawndale.”

Jongin swallowed at that. “You think it’s an… inside job?”

“Might be. The mercenaries were identified to be men who’d do anything for a few coins. They couldn’t have gained anything more from murdering the Jarl. And they’re clearly not from Dawndale. Outsiders… hired by someone from here.”

As much as Jongin disapproved of his father’s misdeeds, he was anxious about him getting caught. He bit his lip. “What have you for me to do today?” he asked to divert the subject.

“Well,” Olivar exhaled. “I suppose the day must go on. I need you to go fetch me another bottle of this.” He pointed at the empty bottle of mead. “And then, I need you to—”

He was cut off by the door that slammed open before the large man stepped in, looking awfully tired with black encircling his eyes. Jongin quickly shrunk away, almost cowering. He wanted to hop out the open window and be gone.

“Counsel Oli—” Adrian began and paused in a hoarse voice, eyes turning to Jongin. There was a flicker of something like warmth and compassion in those eyes before they turned cold again, darting back to Olivar.

Jongin never wanted to be invisible as much as he did this very moment. He tried to keep his eyes to himself. Instead, he stared at the man. And then stared some more. Adrian looked beat and dead on his feet. Jongin wondered if the man had gotten any sleep after everything that’d happened last night.

He kept his head low, just in case.

“Olivar,” Adrian called gruffly. “Have you gotten the record from the Hold Guard?”

“Not yet,” the Counsel said. “I will get to that forthwith, but perhaps you could take some time off to rest your eyes. Currently, you look like a dead man that’s been completely enervated.”

Adrian made a face at that. Like he couldn’t understand the sentence. “I’ll rest when I want to,” he said stubbornly.

“Your Jarl is not going to be killed while you take a few hours off,” the Counsel said. So, did the old man care for the Overseer after all? The concern did not seem ingenuine.

Adrian glanced briefly to Jongin again. An ephemeral gaze. Then he looked back at the Counsel. “I’ll wait for the list.”

“I must get it from the Hold Guard Captain. But I’m not sure if you’ll achieve anything from doing this.”

“Dawndale needs to restrict its permission of foreigners into the hold,” Adrian growled. Olivar flinched a little. “And we’re not stopping until we’ve investigated enough. Get the Captain here along with the record of the people came into Dawndale in the past couple of weeks.”

He then turned around and stormed off, leaving the Counsel to massage his temples and Jongin to calm his breathing.

“All right,” Olivar sighed. “While I’m gone, sort these letters.” He beckoned Jongin over to the desk bestrewn with massive piles of letters and scrolls. “Sort the Jarl’s letters into urgent missives, event invitations, townspeople’s complaints. And others.”

“Am I to read them?” Jongin asked, just to be sure he wouldn’t be doing anything illegal.

“How else are you to sort them?” The old man scowled faintly.

“Right.” Jongin hung his head.

Olivar clapped a hand on Jongin’s shoulder then. “Once you are done sorting them, deliver the rest to their recipients except the Jarl. I will read his letters to him myself.”

“Yes, Master Olivar.”

Jongin did as he was told. He spent almost the entire morning sorting the letters. Once he was done, he realized that the Treasurer had most of the letters apart from the Jarl.

“Forty-four letters,” he let out, picking up the Treasurer’s letters. The Librarian had a few letters, too. Unfortunately, those were the only names he recognized. The others were all addressed to unfamiliar names. He would have to figure out who Jay Kindles was first. Strange name.

 The rest of the afternoon went by and he was finally down to three recipients. He was sure this was not a job he’d be doing if he actually became a Counsel. Which seemed like a long shot. The Jarl had no reason to appoint Jongin as a Counsel, besides the fact that Jongin was possibly the most educated person in Dawndale for the time being. He knew more than preceptors. They usually were experts in certain fields, but not all of them. Jongin had many preceptors, hence he was an expert in all the fields they were. He just lacked the hands-on experience.

Jongin did not even know if he’d make a good Counsel. Counsels needed to be cautious, shrewd, and calculative. Decisive. All Jongin felt like was a coward. A coward who could not face the murderer he had kissed, the Jarl he could have unknowingly killed last night, and his father who’d never missed a single chance to let him know that he was a disappointment.

Whenever he thought about such things, he could not breathe. And during those times, he’d think of the forest and how much he wanted to escape to it.

He delivered the letters to the Treasurer and the Librarian. He knew the Librarian because whenever Olivar was not sending him to run errands, Jongin would sit in the library and read whatever book he could get his hands on. The Brantley Longhouse had a bigger library than the public library in the town.

When it came down to the last letter, he hesitated. It was addressed to one Adrian Vanstone. The address was messily scribbled with charcoal. The envelope was tattered and half-torn. It was actually the only mail that looked like it had survived a windstorm.

And of course, it was for the most uncultured, uncouth ruffian in the longhouse. It had no seal either.

Jongin wondered if he could ask a servant to pass it to Adrian. But then he wouldn’t have completely done the job Olivar had assigned him. Maybe he could slip the letter under Adrian’s door. Yes, that would work.

So, he went looking for the Overseer’s quarters. It was not easy to find. It was in the furthest corner of the longhouse, but all the female servants were awfully happy to direct him in the direction of the Overseer’s bedchamber. Some of them even offered to tag along.

“Just down the hall,” a servant woman said when he asked her and her giggling gang where the Overseer’s room was. “It has a grey door.”

“Thank you.”

“We’re just coming from there.” It was an information he neither asked nor needed. The ladies chuckled to themselves as Jongin brushed past them.

“Well, did he like it? Where else did he kiss you?” another woman whispered.

“ _Everywhere,_ ” the other answered.

Jongin stopped in his tracks for a moment. He looked back at the servant women. They were walking away, all glomming on this one fairly attractive woman.

“I never thought the Overseer would even look in my way,” she said. “But it happened, and it was _magical_.”

Jongin had half the heart to rip the letter in pieces and stomp away. But then he realized this was bothering him.

 _Why?_ He asked himself. Or the voice. His own voice that sounded like a different person asked him.

_Could it be that I like him?_

“No!” he hissed to himself and proceeded to the goddamn grey door. The letter was being crumpled in his furious grip. “So, what? He sleeps with the chambermaids. Why should I care?”

He was angry, and he didn’t even know why. Probably because the man was so full of shit with all the heartfelt bullshit he had thrown at Jongin’s feet all this while. He never needed Jongin. He had his fucking chambermaids. So, was Jongin all just a joke? Was he using Jongin for his amusement like Jongin had been using him for his own?

 _Was it_ only _for amusement?_

_Shut up._

He came to the grey door. His heart was pounding in his throat. He crouched before the door and eyed the slit beneath it. A faint light exuded from the narrow gap. Jongin felt his stomach lurch.

_The kiss meant nothing. It meant nothing. He’s a soldier._

_A murderer._

_I hate him. I am better than this. I can do better than this. I shouldn’t have let him kiss me. I should have killed him. I wanted to sink my nails into his neck and feel his pulse throb against my fingers. I have an Oath._

Before Jongin could ask himself what the Oath was about—although he had an idea of it being never to fall for a crude, rough, hardened soldier—the grey door was thrown open.

Jongin made a fool of himself when he fell back on his ass. He looked up at the massive silhouette towering before him. The setting sun dribbled its last lights into the room through the window behind the beast of a man. At his side was another beast, one that looked much tamer than the man himself. It was growling softly at Jongin.

As he slowly raised his gaze, he marvelled a little at the shadow that fell over the hard lines of the Overseer’s shirtless body. It was…

_Bad news._

“What are you doing?” came a hoarse, drowsy voice that did something to Jongin’s sanity. Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

He scrambled up to his feet and awkwardly dusted his trousers, even though nothing was sticking to them. He did not want to look up. He did not want to see something that would make his stomach feel all funny again.

He definitely did not want to relive that kiss.

So, he kept his eyes on the ground. He did not like doing that very much either because it made him seem like the weaker party, as though he were intimidated. But it would be better than to meet those blue eyes that often transmuted from warm to cold and vice versa, and have his lucidity stripped away from him once more.

“I was told to deliver a letter to you,” he spat monotonously and held out the crumpled envelope.

The Overseer did not respond immediately, but he eventually did and took the letter from Jongin with the hand that was wrapped in leather. Jongin tried to ignore the sparks he felt in his spine when their fingertips brushed lightly.

“Did you chew on it on your way?” Adrian asked and that was when Jongin’s eyes shot up to glare at him.

“It came in like that,” he lied with gritted teeth. It had been tattered, but the creases were the doings of his grip.

“This isn’t your job,” the Overseer then said, his eyes on the letter. He looked curious and surprised. “It’s the Steward’s.”

“Well, I take my orders from Master Olivar.”

“He’s using you as a flunkey.” He lifted his gaze. Jongin’s dropped. To his chest. To his very naked chest. Behind the scattering of chest hairs, there was a faint discolouring of his skin, veins lightly jutting out from his sternum. He had seen it last night, too. But last night, it had looked worse. Now, it was barely visible under all those dark hairs that trailed along his abdomen in a thin, straight line, all the way down to the top of his pants. Jongin realized his eyes were wandering too much. They took it all in, though. The taut, solid muscles of his abdomen, arms, chest. The deep sternum, dredged with faint purple veins. The scars that chased along his ribs, waist, chest, shoulders, and arms.

_This is dangerous._

Adrian cleared his throat and turned around, and Jongin felt an immense embarrassment overcome him then. He looked away but stood still in the doorway. He was not sure what he was waiting for and why he hadn’t just turned around and left. Why had Adrian left the door open? Why was the goddamn tiger staring at him, wagging its tail? It reminded Jongin a little bit of Duke. Except that this was a majestic creature, not a skinny, brown mongrel with a lopping, drooling tongue.

Jongin looked up again and saw Adrian’s muscled back turned to him from where he stood before the windows of his bedchamber. There were scars on his back. So many of them. Some were obviously sourced by blades. Others were… Jongin could not tell. He had not seen many scarred men in his life. This man… He bore them like they were his brand.

Was the bastard not even going to acknowledge the kiss? He was the one who did it. He was the one who showed up at Jongin’s house persistently for weeks. He was the one who was now getting under Jongin’s skin. He did not get to give Jongin the cold shoulder after all that he’d done.

He had a strained frown on his lips as he read the letter. Could it be from a lover? A woman he could have had in Greenmire? Jongin wanted to burn that letter and then kill her.

He was then momentarily distracted by the yip that came from the corner. It was the cub, yawning and stretching, waking up from its slumber. It frantically glanced around the chamber with wide amber eyes before they landed on Baashere. The cub instantly calmed and leaped up to its paws. Skipping over to Baashere, it rubbed its head on the bigger tiger’s leg before playfully nipping at it.

Baashere growled at it to stop and behave. The cub heeded and hopped over to the Overseer to rub at his legs. Adrian brought his head up and settled the letter on the bedside table before he picked up a shirt from the bed. He did not look he had slept much. But he looked better rested than this morning.

Jongin then turned to the sword resting at his bed’s side. His chest clenched furiously when he recollected last night’s gory events, in which the very sword had sliced men open. He got the part that Adrian had to do his job. He had to protect the Jarl. The Jarl needed to live. It was his responsibility. But what he did not get was the remorselessness he had seen in Adrian’s eyes as he sent those men plummeting to their deaths.

Ironically enough, Jongin had also seen the ruthless yearning in those eyes.

He didn’t realize he was staring at Adrian lacing up his shirt until the other man cleared his throat. Jongin blinked and started to turn around.

He stopped when he heard Adrian say, “I’m sorry.”

Clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth, Jongin remained still, back facing the man. _For what,_ he wanted to ask. Instead, he walked away with a “Whatever.”

And he hoped it stung the bastard.

Because his sister was right. He did enjoy hurting the man.

But she was also wrong. Adrian was not in love with him.

 

 

##  e n t r’a c t e

 

 

I needed the forest. I needed to be reminded of who I am. I was starting to feel human. I was becoming the boy. My wild, resentful spirit was becoming his own.

I did not have a name. No Hamadryad did. We recognized each other by our spirits. But when I heard him say it, his breath still upon my lips, I knew I was _Jongin._

This had to end. I must return to my tree. The longer I stay without getting any closer to fulfilling my Oath, the further I get from my home. From the forest. I could feel my tree dying. But at the same time, I felt my spirit thrive with the soul of the boy.

A part of me wanted to stay. A part of me wanted to let go and become _Jongin._

 

 

#  E I G H T

 

 

He didn’t catch a lot of sleep for the rest of the week.

Most of his waking hours were spent on refiguring the town’s security system. At the longhouse, the Housecarls were beginning to take their job more seriously. They were alert at all times. But as the week passed by and the afterheat of the attack mellowed, things went back to normal.

“My men are efficient,” the Hold Guard Captain, Captain Rolland argued. “We do not need a new strategy.”

Adrian hated talking to the man. He was younger but was as pig-headed as the next asshole. “You let three mercenaries into Dawndale last week,” he said and watched the Captain’s face pale, which made the freckles dusted over his nose and cheeks brighten. “If you don’t tighten the security of the hold, I’m afraid I’m going to have to find an ‘efficient’ _Captain_.”

The other man looked slightly threatened, but he tried his best to not to let it show. “The authority to do that remains with the Jarl.”

Adrian scowled now. “Who do you think gives me orders to talk to you?” It was not all Vincent, but even he understood that there needed to be some reinforcement. “Tell your men to run a tighter shift. I need the guards to patrol the streets at night. Do not let any suspicious man or woman into Dawndale without thoroughly vetting them first. I need a progress report at the next council meeting.”

Rolland clearly did not like taking orders, especially from Adrian. But Adrian did outrank him and since Vincent was stubborn about not wanting to deal with this, it was up to Adrian. He had told Adrian that Rolland was a highborn prick and well, he was right. He had had his eyes set on the Overseer’s position, Vincent had said the other day. Rightfully, it should have been his. But then Adrian had come back to town. While Adrian was a much more experienced soldier than Rolland could ever hope to be, he was still a servant’s bastard son. He did not have noble blood coursing through his veins like Rolland, whose father was the Treasurer.

“Do I make myself clear?” Adrian pushed. Rolland was now scowling, his red curls falling over his eyes as he scowled.

“Yes,” he said through his teeth. He then took his leave with a curt bow of his head.

Adrian sighed and leaned back against the corridor’s balustrade. The sun was starting to sink in the horizon, giving way to a splash of purple, orange, and pink against the blue of the sky.

“There you are.” The Steward found him. “I hope I’m not disturbing you and your thoughts. Not that a man like would have a lot of thoughts.”

Adrian had stopped caring about the shots taken at him for his lack of intellect a long time ago. Everyone just assumed that a big beast like him had to be stupid. And well, they weren’t entirely wrong.

“The Jarl’s looking for you.”

He pulled away from the balustrade and started toward the Jarl’s quarters.

Sin and Alecc were standing outside Vincent’s chambers, discussing something that appeared to be serious. They stopped as soon as they saw Adrian coming their way.

“My Lord,” Sin said. Adrian wished people would stop calling him that. He was no lord. He was no noble. It did not make sense for them to address him as ‘lord’. If anything, it was a little humiliating.

They were just so used to calling all the Overseers that had come before Adrian as ‘lord’. Because they were _lords_. Rolland would have been _lord._

Adrian… Adrian was a servant’s son.

He wondered what the half-brothers were doing there. Their shifts must have ended. Could they be waiting for Vincent? God, Adrian did not want to speculate any further.

So, he asked. “What are you still doing here? Go home.”

“We can’t,” Sin’s grumpy brother, Alecc said.

Adrian arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“Orders,” they said in unison.

Confused, Adrian shoved past them and entered Vincent’s chambers with a knock on the door. He found his friend behind the desk with the signet ring in his hand. He was signing invitations for the ball.

The ridiculous, stupid ball.

It was a ridiculous, stupid idea.

He hated Vincent a little for that.

“I hope you realize how _ridiculous_ and—”

“And stupid the ball is,” Vincent finished his sentence and looked up at Adrian with a smile. “I know. You only said it like ten thousand times.”

“And I stand by it,” Adrian said roughly. “You should be working on fortifying your reign. Not throwing fancy dinners.”

“It’s a dance, Adrian,” the Jarl sighed. “And this isn’t about you sucking at dancing, is it?”

Adrian grew red at that. He hated Vincent even more now. It was all ancient history. He did not it brought up again. “I don’t give two shits about dancing.”

“That’s because you have the largest feet I’ve ever seen and the flexibility of a flagpole.”

Adrian glowered.

“Don’t worry, my friend,” he then said. “We’ll find you a pretty lady to dance with.”

“I’m not _dancing_ ,” he snapped. “What did you need me for?”

“Oh, yes.” He rose from his desk and walked around it to put a hand on Adrian’s shoulder. “You must take the night off.”

“What?”

“I need you to stay away from the longhouse tonight.”

Adrian did not understand. And Vincent had that strange smirk about him. “Why?”

“Because your shoulders feel like a pair of anvils. You need some time off. You look like utter crap.”

Adrian heaved a breath. “I’m fine.”

“In the mornings you train the Housecarls and yell at them all day whenever you’re not around me, which is almost never. In the evenings, you are… well around me. Then at night, you stand guard outside my rooms until odd hours. Nobody is coming to kill me, Adrian.”

“Are you forgetting about what happened last week?”

“A serious mishap. And nothing happened to me.”

Adrian frowned then. “Something could have.”

A hurt look crossed Vincent’s eyes. “You saved me.”

“I almost didn’t because I was… distracted.” And oh, how much he had berated and tortured himself over it since that night. He had let Jongin distract him from his duty, from keeping his friend, his brother safe.

 _Soldiers shouldn’t get distracted on the battlefield,_ he recalled his Commander telling him back in Greenmire.

That night had been a true awakening for him. He was here to be by Vincent’s side and serve him. He could not afford to get distracted. And especially when it was for nothing. Jongin… Jongin would lead them nowhere because Adrian was a dead end. But he could give Dawndale a good ruler. Vincent had it in him. He was trying. He should be given a chance.

Strong hands came up to grip his shoulders. “I need you to stop beating yourself up over that, Adrian,” Vincent said with a flicker in his green eyes. “Nothing happened to me, okay?” He pulled his hands back and let them fall to his sides. “I ordered Alecc and Sin to take you out for the night.”

“I have no interest in them,” Adrian said.

Vincent almost growled. “Not funny. And they’re mine. You lay your dirty paws on them and I will—”

“I just said I have no interest in them.” He did not take Vincent’s threat seriously, but the man did look serious. “They’re all yours.”

“Good. So, you are taking the rest of the evening off. And if you come home not smelling like cheap ale, roasted garlic, and whores, don’t come home at all. That’s an order.”

“What is this, Vince?” Adrian groaned. “Are you taking any of this seriously? You were attacked by mercenaries. And you’re throwing a fucking _ball_. You’re ordering your Overseer to get wasted and have a fun night.”

Vincent took a step back. “I’m not a child. I don’t need you sniffing up my ass at all hours. I can look after myself.”

“That’s not what you were doing last week when the assailants—”

“Maybe I would have, Adrian.” He sounded angry now. “Maybe you did not give me an opportunity to take care of myself. Maybe I need people to stop mollycoddling me like I’m a dumb kid. I know what I’m doing, and I would appreciate it if you believed in just a bit.”

Adrian’s jaw tightened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I do believe… in you, Vince. You know that.”

“It doesn’t seem like it. I see how you look at me sometimes. Like I’m the world’s most clueless Jarl. Maybe I am. But maybe you need to let me try to do it _my_ way and not my father’s. And let’s not forget that I’m not the illiterate idiot here.” He paused, eyes ballooning. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Adrian shrugged, but he dropped his gaze. “You’re right, Vince. I should… let you try it your way. And be patient. It’s just that… sometimes… I feel like… I don’t have enough time.”

He curled his right hand. It trembled. It hurt around the leather. Like a million small, tiny pinpricks.

“What are you blethering about?” Vincent huffed. “Look. I only have you, Adrian. The only one who’s left for me.”

“That’s not true. You have uncles and aunts and cousins all over Arengol.”

Vincent did not find that funny. Which was not a surprise. Adrian never tried to be funny and probably that was why he had a humour as dry as bone.

“I’m trying to have an honest conversation with you,” his friend said.

“Grown men don’t have these kinds of conversation.” Adrian smirked.

“Hear me out, anyway. I want you to be happy, Adrian. I know Dawndale is miserable shithole and is no Greenmire, but if you are unhappy here, I want you to leave.”

“Who said I’m not happy?” He clasped Vincent’s arm. “I’m not going anywhere. I have a pretty good feeling that I’m going to die in Dawndale.” He smiled at the sick truth.

Vincent exhaled heavily. “Please, go out tonight. Get drunk, get fucked. I can’t stand to look at that grave face of yours.”

“Okay. Okay,” Adrian said. “I’ll do what you want.” He didn’t want to, but perhaps he needed it. “I’m not going with those two, though.”

“You are.”

“They’re not going to babysit me.”

“Well, they would ensure that you loosen up tonight.”

“Oh, like how they’ve been loosening _you_ up every night?”

Horror struck Vincent’s face. Adrian bit his tongue. Vincent then laughed.

Adrian scoffed, shaking his head. Smiling.

“You have gotten better with your witty one-liners,” the Jarl commented. “Now, go. Oh, and we are going hunting tomorrow in the morning.”

“I’ll have a few Housecarls assigned to your doors just for tonight while I’m gone.”

“If that’ll put your mind at ease.”

“It will. And don’t step out of the longhouse.” Adrian lifted a hand to wave him goodbye with two fingers as he turned around and sauntered out of the room. Sin and Alecc were already plotting the course of the night.

“My Lord!” Sin gasped. “So, we will see you outside when you’re ready? Alecc and I know this great tavern that serves affordable and great drinks!”

God, Adrian was going to regret this whole night. He walked away, sighing heavily. Back in his room, he found Baashere licking Tigo’s fur clean with a heavy paw pressing down on the cub to keep him in place. Tigo was trying his best to break free.

He had three shirts. All identical. He decided not to wear his uniform. He needed a bath. He wasn’t sure if he had taken one in the past three days. Vincent was right. He really did look like utter crap.

After he had bathed, chopped most of his hair off, shaving the sides of his head, leaving only a thick stubble behind. He then trimmed the hair at the top and back.

Baashere watched him in the bathing chamber, grimacing.

“It’s starting to get hot,” Adrian told him. He washed the hairs off his body and stood before the mirror. His damp hair at the front fell over his eyes. He pushed it back and picked up the razor again. He trimmed his beard but did not shave it all off. He looked a bit different, but it wasn’t a bad different. His head felt a lot lighter, though. He snorted at the few silver strands that stood out in his otherwise dark hair.

“I’m getting old,” he scoffed at his reflection before wandering back into the bedchamber, where he dressed himself in plain shirt and trousers. He then wrapped his horrendous-looking hand with a new set of leather strips.

A sharp, familiar pain stung his chest and he drew a deep breath. It had been happening more often now. He had not had the time to go see a healer yet. Not sure he really even wanted to anymore.

Slowly, he realized, he was giving up.

Baashere was ready at the door for him. He knew Adrian was going out. He wanted to tag along. He snarled at Tigo, though, ordering him to stay put.

“You’re not coming,” Adrian said.

And as he started out the door after grabbing his sword, Baashere caught the leather strip on Adrian’s hand and tugged at it.

“Baashere, cut it out,” Adrian hissed and yanked his hand back. The tiger looked agitated but did not stop him again. “I’ll be back.”

Adrian made sure he had assigned Housecarls to guard the Jarl in his quarters while he was gone before he meandered his way out of the longhouse, where he found the half-brothers awaiting him under the starlit evening sky. Adrian sighed. They looked excited. But they weren’t looking at him.

His stomach lurched.

“It’s all right. I don’t feel like going home so soon, anyway,” said the boy, sounding slightly tired. He _looked_ tired. “And I don’t think my parents would miss me so much if I didn’t show up at dinner.”

“Well, then,” Sin said. “You’re coming along!”

Adrian thought he might just turn back inside before they could notice his presence. But it was too late. The boy’s head was already turning in Adrian’s way. His eyes widened a little and his cheeks reddened into that shade that had Adrian’s heart racing.

Not a day had gone by without him thinking about the drunk kiss that night. And not a night without Adrian kicking himself for it.

The Housecarls followed Jongin’s gawking eyes. “Ah, My Lord!” Sin cried. “You’re here. A new… haircut?”

Ah, so that was what the boy was staring at. Adrian unconsciously lifted a hand to rub against the prickly short hairs at the back of his head.

“Sin here invited the Counsel’s apprentice to join us,” Alecc said. “I hope that is not a problem.”

It was a big problem. But Adrian was not going to make it seem like one. He shrugged and climbed down the steps of the longhouse before starting toward the town, a hand wound around his sword’s grip.

“Maybe I should… go home,” he heard the boy say behind him. “I didn’t know… the Overseer was…”

“Don’t be silly,” Sin said. “He only looks scary.”

 _He only_ looks _scary?_ _What’s that supposed to mean?_ Adrian thought grouchily. What had Vincent been telling them about Adrian?

“I don’t know…”

“You’re coming.” Sin took hold of the boy’s arm and hauled him along. This was going to be a very unfortunate night, Adrian could feel it.

* * *

They arrived at the tavern that was crowded of drunk men and wanton strumpets. The place smelled of ale, sweat, and something roasted. Adrian did not mind any of them. He supposed he could use a few drinks for a good night’s sleep tonight.

“Pretty,” he heard Sin comment before he turned to see the Housecarl smirking at a woman, who had her skirt lifted almost all the way up while she entertained a man. Adrian found them a table.

Jongin looked like a fish out of water as followed behind the half-brothers. There was confusion, disgust, curiosity, surprise, repulsion, all at once in his expression. When a drunk guard accidentally brushed against him, the boy squirmed and blenched before vigorously wiping whatever traces of the drunkard that were left on his arm.

Adrian stifled a laugh.

“This place is… filthy,” Jongin remarked, turning pale, as though he were about to get sick. “And noisy.”

“It’s a tavern,” Alecc said. “What were you expecting? Oh, wait. You lot only go to fancy dinners and snazzy tea parties.”

Jongin grimaced. “I do not… go to tea parties. Only my… parents.”

“Uh-huh,” scoffed Alecc. “Exactly my point.”

“What can I get you boys?” a barkeep interrupted them. While Sin drooled over her half-exposed breasts, Adrian’s eyes surveyed the tavern. He recognized some of the Hold Guards.

“Sit, Jongin,” Sin offered, patting the bench at his side. Adrian raised his eyes to meet the boy’s that were looking directly down at him. Jongin quickly dropped his gaze and sank in his seat beside Sin and across Adrian. His eyes constantly kept bouncing on and off Adrian. His cheeks continued to stay flushed.

“Your best ale,” Alecc said to the barkeep. “Roasted figs.”

“Grilled leaks,” Sin added.

“Keep the ale coming,” Adrian said with a sigh.

Sin and Alecc looked pleased with that order.

“What about you, Jongin?” Sin asked.

The boy stuttered. “Um… Ale.”

“Are you sure?” Alecc sneered. “If that mouth’s only been used to rich wine, I don’t think ale would be good for your tummy.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jongin grumbled.

“All right,” the barkeep said. It was then when Adrian noticed she was making eyes at him. And her bodice had somehow gotten even lower as she leaned closer to him. “Nothing else?”

Adrian wondered if she were aware of the fact that he was the Overseer. “Nothing else,” he said.

As she walked away with their order, Sin let out a low whistle. “Did you look at those jugs hanging out?”

“Brother, shut up,” Alecc spat.

Jongin was blushing hard.

It was driving Adrian crazy.

As soon as the ale arrived, he chugged it and demanded for another tankard. If he were going to survive the night without putting his hands on the boy, he needed a lot more to drink.

Sin told stories. He had some pretty good ones. Most of them involved tales about how he was stuck between a woman and a man. Others were about his days before he became a Housecarl. Alecc did not seem like he was enjoying the stories.

“I worked at the harbour,” Sin drawled after their third round of ale. Jongin was still sipping slowly from the first round. He definitely did not like the taste of the ale, but he was not going to admit it to three soldiers who could drink like nobody’s business.

Adrian admired him for that. The boy wanted to act tough all the time. But Adrian knew. He knew how soft the boy was. The way Jongin had just melted against him when they had kissed…

He was awfully aware of Jongin’s feet that were close to his own. He could even stretch his arm and touch Jongin’s hand on the table. He had missed the boy. He had missed seeing the boy in his garden every evening, reading his book. Jongin was so well-read, well-mannered, cultured, beautiful, dainty, respectable, hardworking, and witty with the things he said. And he was also righteous. It was no wonder that he must have felt insulted to have a man like Adrian court him.

He drained another tankard of ale.

“Alecc was in a street gang,” said Sin before his brother kicked his foot under the table. “What? It’s the truth. He was a menace.”

“That’s in the past,” Alecc argued, pinning Adrian with a nervous glance.

Adrian waved him off. “Don’t worry about my judgment,” he told Alecc. “I doubt that you were bigger menace than I was back in my youthful days.”

“We’ve heard stories,” Sin said. “Is it really true that you broke into a jeweller’s house and stole from his safe when you were fourteen?”

The back of Adrian’s throat burned a little. He looked at Jongin, who was gaping at him. Good. Now, he was not only a filthy soldier and a merciless murderer but was also a thief to him.

“Yes,” he said. His eyelids were beginning to get heavy. The drunk hold guards were singing in a corner. Their song boomed in Adrian’s head. His eyes briefly landed on a much more familiar man. Captain Rolland. The man had a woman on his lap, a drunk grin on his lips as he sang along with the other guards. “I did break into that old fleabag’s house and stole.”

“Wow,” Alecc let out.

Jongin fixed Adrian with a scornful lour and sipped a large draft of ale. His face crumpled at the bittersweet taste. “Why?”

Adrian was surprised to hear the boy say that. “I needed the money. The bastard had too much of it.”

“You could have begged on the streets,” Jongin shot back at him, his eyes now drowsily angry.

“I wouldn’t have earned it.”

“Oh, and stealing from someone is _earning_ it?”

Adrian clenched the tankard in his hand and dented it a little. “My mother was ill, okay? She was ill and in pain,” he growled then. Jongin shuddered. “We couldn’t afford the treatment and she needed one fast because she was… she was… bleeding. So much. I was sleeping… I heard her… and some… some guy. I clasped my hands to my ears and forced myself to sleep in the next room. When I woke up in the morning, I found her… trembling in her bed. And there was just… so much blood. I didn’t know where it came from or how… I brought the healer, but the woman wanted to get paid first. So, yes. I stole. I didn’t take from anyone who _needed_ it.”

The table had gone completely silent.

“Fuck,” Adrian spat and shot up from the bench, tossing a few coins onto the table to pay for the drinks before he stormed out of the tavern. As soon as he was outside, he plumped to a seat on the sidewalk, holding his head in his hands.

He’d had a shitty life, hadn’t he? Through and through.

“You need help?”

Adrian brought his spinning head up to blink at the red-haired man, who was looking down at him with an arched eyebrow. “No, I don’t,” Adrian groaned, turning his head away.

Rolland sighed. “Get up.”

“You need to get away from me right this instant,” Adrian warned him through his gnashed teeth.

The Hold Guard Captain hesitated for a moment. “You don’t seem like a man who can’t hold his alcohol.”

Adrian jolted up to his full height then and started walking away. He was having a hard time breathing. He glanced down at his leathered hand and clenched it.

“Not so tough now, are you? Might as well take a few shots. You won’t last, you know, once you run out of the Jarl’s favours.”

“I need you to walk away from me right now, Rolland.”

“Or what, tough guy? You’ll go whine to your boyfriend? We all know that’s why he’s keeping you.”

Adrian snapped then. He spun around and the next thing he knew, his hand was clutching at the redhead’s neck. “Another word about him and I will make sure you regret it.”

Rolland did not seem threatened. In fact, he smirked. Adrian blinked confusedly as the Captain’s hand came up to his chest. As Rolland’s hand tightened around his shirt, Adrian’s loosened around the redhead’s neck.

Everything that happened next was a total blur. He felt a warm mouth cover his. It tasted of ginger ale and cigar. The determined hand on his chest shoved him toward the alley. Adrian wanted it to stop. And then he didn’t.

With the alley’s wall against his back and Rolland’s tongue in his mouth, Adrian kissed him back fiercely. God, it had been so long since someone had touched him. Too long. As Rolland’s fingers hastily fumbled with the laces of Adrian’s pants, Adrian saw flashes of a sun-kissed boy with a beautiful bronze skin, plump lips, puffy cheeks, soft hair, and a mouth that loved hurting him. A moan broke from Adrian’s throat as a hand wrapped around his cock.

His eyes flung open. “No,” he managed to say between their mouths, lifting a hand to Rolland’s chest to stop him. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” The redhead smashed his lips against Adrian’s neck now. “You want this. Your little friend here is being very obvious about it.” He tugged at Adrian’s hardening cock.

Adrian caught his wrist and arched an eyebrow at Rolland, sobering up. “Didn’t know you swung that way, Captain Rolland.”

“I don’t. But you’re a man hard to resist.”

Adrian almost rolled his eyes but then they darted to the boy standing near the alley with his eyes bulged and jaw slacked. Adrian’s blood ran cold.

“Shit,” Rolland spat and pulled away from Adrian at once.

Adrian’s breaths shallowed. “Jongin…”

The boy looked _horrified._ Adrian took a step toward him, unsure of why he was feeling guilty. He knew he was supposed to feel guilty, but he was not sure why. And he sure as hell did not know why the boy looked like he was about to cry.

Jongin turned around and fled before Adrian could get to him. He ran. Without looking back.

 

 

##  e n t r’a c t e

 

 

_Hurt. Hurt. Hurt._

It’d hurt. And I didn’t know why.

I wanted the forest. I wanted home.

But I wanted him more.

 

 

#  N I N E

 

 

The forest was within his reach now. He was unsure of how long he had been running for. But he didn’t stop. His legs were screaming for a break and so were his lungs. The cold night air slapped against his sweaty skin as he raced through the town to get to its borders.

The guards at the borders recognized him. Or they recognized him as his father’s son. They looked confused as he hurried past them and disappeared into the forest on the sides of the road.

As soon his feet touched the damp, cold loam of the forest ground, Jongin crashed down. He dropped to his knees and cried. He didn’t know why he was crying. But he cried his heart out, fingers digging into the sweet-smelling dirt. He wanted to roll in the dirt until he smelled like it, too.

It could have been the ale he had been _trying_ to drink all evening. But he wanted to throw up. So, he did. He found a tree and yakked at its roots. Then feeling a tad bit better, he drew in a few deep breaths.

He then looked up and into the woods. Behind him was the town, half asleep. He wiped his mouth and wet cheeks on the back of his hand, starting deeper into the woods.

He should be afraid. There could be wild animals. Although he doubted there’d be any so close to the town. But still, he was taught to never go into the forest. Here he was, venturing into the forest at midnight. His parents would be furious. Good.

Things at home had been bad ever since the debacle at the hoedown. Jongin had not spoken to his father. And the man did not care about that. Kataj and her daughter left last week. Fanin and their mother hated the tension at home.

Jongin had overhead his father tell his mother that he was just lashing out like a teenager and that Jongin would come back to his senses soon and would see the bigger picture. Jongin was careful about anything he told his family now. He never spoke about his work or the longhouse now. And he knew it was driving his father mad because this had not been the plan.

 _The forest_ , he thought, inhaling sharply. He was overcome by this nausea that screamed homesickness. He pressed a hand to a tree and smiled to himself like an idiot. Then he touched another tree. And another. It made him feel alive.

When his legs finally started to give up, he sat down under a tree.

_Your Oath._

Jongin gasped and shot up to his feet before turning around. He picked up a stick from the ground and held it up. “Who was that?!”

Someone was speaking.

_You must return to your tree. It is dying, Brother._

Jongin screeched again, startled. “Who’s speaking?!”

_The tree you puked on._

Blinking, Jongin glanced back at the tree and the puddle of vomit on the ground. “Enough of this! It’s not funny! Who are you?!”

He heard the voice. But he could not tell if it belonged to a man or a woman. He knew he heard it, but it didn’t sound like it belonged to… anyone. The voice was, as though, only for him to hear. It did not reverberate into the night like Jongin’s own voice did. But the leaves on the branches bristled when the voice spoke.

 _They are talking to me,_ Jongin thought and the thought did not sound like it was his own.

“You’re… talking to me?” he asked into the forest.

There was no response. He swallowed and dropped the stick. It was starting to get chilly. It was strange how the forest calmed him instead of scaring him like he had thought it would.

He decided to go home, however. He was starting to hear voices.

It was bad enough that seeing the Overseer with another man upset him so much. And to think Jongin was going to apologize to the son of a bitch! Why should he care who had his hand stuck down the bastard’s trousers? If anything, this proved that Adrian was just fooling around with Jongin. It was just for his own entertainment. Kataj was _wrong_. Adrian was not a human being that deserved Jongin’s humanity.

 _Drown him_.

_Drown him._

_Hurt him back._

_Drown him in the Mother Ocean. Cleanse the sins off his soul._

His breathing quickened.

He turned around and went home.

* * *

His father was up in the drawing home, a tumbler of his favourite, expensive whiskey in his hand.

“You are past your curfew,” the man said gruffly when he caught Jongin walking past the hallway.

Jongin gritted his teeth. “I went out drinking with a couple of friends.” _And then got my heart broken._

His father rose from the chaise longue. “Friends? From the longhouse?”

“Yes,” Jongin said, not letting the tremor in his voice show. “Housecarls.”

The older man scowled then. “You are friends with… Housecarls? What do you hear from them?”

Jongin was now shaking with anger. “I’m not tattling, Father!”

His father looked taken aback. “Did you… just raise your voice at me?”

Jongin pursed his lips and hang his head.

“I let you throw your fit for a week because you were upset. But you dare raise your voice to me in my own house? Because you work for the Jarl now?”

“No, it’s not—”

“What? You no longer fear me? Your loyalty is to the Jarl and not this household? Not me?”

“Father—” He was cut off by the hand that struck a side of his face. And it was brutal. He tasted blood before he felt his cheek throb. A side of his lip was cut and bleeding. Tears stung Jongin’s eyes.

“You will do as I say, do you understand? I will ruin everything for you, you insolent child,” his father roared. “You report to _me_. Not to the Jarl. I am your father. Now, tell me. What news have you got from the longhouse?”

Jongin felt anger bubble up in his chest but he was scared. He feared his father. He always had.

His father swung his hand again when Jongin did not answer.

“There’s going to be a ball,” Jongin blurted out, flinching. His father dropped his hand again.

“When?”

“In two weeks.” His voice trembled with a sob.

“Anything else?”

Jongin shook his head.

“You better not be lying.”

“I’m… not… Father.”

“All right. Leave my sight for now.”

Jongin hurried away but stopped when he found Fanin in the hallway outside the drawing room. She looked at him with red, glistening eyes. “Brother,” she let out, lifting a hand to the wound on Jongin’s lip.

Jongin pulled away from her and hurtled up to his room.

That night, he dreamed of the forest. He dreamed of lianas curling around his father’s neck as the man’s skin slowly blued. He woke up gasping and screaming.

* * *

“Why… must I come along?” Jongin asked Olivar the next day, standing in the Counsel’s study as the old man frantically packed a bag.

“Because who else would carry my belongings, boy? And the Jarl requested for you to come along.”

Jongin blinked. “The Jarl… wanted me to come along?”

Master Olivar stopped to glower at him. “That is what I just said, didn’t I? So, make haste. Take these to my horse.”

“But I don’t know the first thing about hunting!”

“Neither do I,” the old man sighed. “But it isn’t unheard of for the Jarl to want to participate in his hobbies with the members of his council. I will admit that I was more comfortable with his father’s set of hobbies. The man liked a good game of chess. A performance or two. Painting.”

Jongin frowned. It wasn’t going hunting with the Jarl that bothered him. It was being in the Overseer’s company. After last night, he wasn’t sure he wanted to see the bastard today. Or ever.

 _The forest…_ he heard his voice chime in his head.

 _Yes, the forest._ That would be nice.

He winced when a side of his face stung along with his bruised lip. It looked nasty, but Fanin told him in the morning that most people would just assume it was the doing of a demanding woman in bed. Which was even more horrifying to Jongin.

Sin had smirked at the door. Alecc pretended like he didn’t see it. Olivar had looked at the cut on his lip that was starting to scar, but he did not ask Jongin how he had gotten it. Thankfully.

“It’ll be like a walk in the woods,” the Counsel said. “Do not fret too much.”

Jongin bowed his head and picked up the two fairly light bags before he brought them out to the stables, where he then waited. He didn’t get a horse. Neither did the Treasurer’s lackey nor the Housecarls. The Treasurer was a nice man, though. He often smiled at Jongin and asked how he was. He also said he knew Jongin’s father. They weren’t friends or anything, but they knew each other. His son was the Hold Guard Captain.

The man Adrian was with last night. The man whom Jongin wanted to _murder._

“That is an angry lip you got there,” the Treasurer commented as he mounted his horse. He was even wearing a hunting raiment, which was new because Jongin had only seen him in a fancy robe.

“I… fell,” Jongin muttered.

“Into a woman, I hope,” the red-haired man said and winked. Some of the Housecarls giggled behind them. Jongin felt his cheeks grow warm.

“I’m betrothed.” He didn’t know why he said that. He should have just kept his mouth shut.

“Is that so?” the Treasurer laughed. “Splendid.”

Jongin wished he hadn’t come in to work today.

The Counsel showed up not long after and gave the Treasurer a curt bow of his head and nothing more before he climbed onto his horse. The Steward was not coming along. Jongin supposed he was not ‘royal’ enough to join a hunting party.

When the Jarl finally made an appearance, Jongin immediately looked to his side where he found the Overseer, looking sharp in his uniform, a large hand resting atop the hilt of his silver greatsword. He looked handsome with the new short hair and trimmed beard. Jongin could finally see the man’s face.

_He… Very handsome…_

Jongin almost smiled at his own thought before he recollected the horrors of the previous night.

“Whoever that hunts the best prize today will win a favour of mine,” the Jarl said to his Counsel, Treasurer, the five Housecarls, and his Overseer.

“What sort of favour?” the Treasurer asked.

“Well, for you, I might consider not firing you,” the Jarl said. The Treasurer heaved a great breath in exasperation.

Jongin looked back to the Overseer. Adrian was now looking in his way with a hurt frown. Jongin clenched his jaw and scowled before turning his face away sharply, hoping that that would hurt the man more.

It must have because Adrian mounted his horse silently with slumped shoulders. Jongin’s gaze fell to the two tigers trailing behind Adrian then. The cub was growing fast and fat. Baashere, on the other hand, looked excited.

Some men looked good on horses. Others looked weird. But Adrian Vanstone… Adrian Vanstone looked majestic and regal. He could tell people that he was a High King and they’d believe him. Jongin hated himself for acknowledging all that.

* * *

The Jarl never stopped talking to his Overseer. He always had something to say. Adrian, on the other hand, had _nothing_ to say. He just listened. Jongin was intrigued by their relationship.

“Hand me an arrow,” Olivar ordered. Jongin held one out. They had all dismounted their horses. Everyone had a weapon in their hands now. Except Jongin and the Treasurer’s lackey.

Jongin had learned plenty about the council and how things worked in the longhouse over the past few weeks. But he was not sure he was the right fit to be the Jarl’s Counsel yet.

He watched Adrian stroke his horse’s mane while Baashere snapped at the cub for getting too excited.

 _The trees,_ he then thought, averting his gaze to the trees. _Home..._

Did not feel like _home_. So, he glanced back to Adrian.

_Heart… Hurts… Home?_

What was he doing? Whatever it was, he needed to stop.

“There!” Olivar yapped as he drew his bowstring after nocking his arrow clumsily. A chestnut chevrotain skipped away and disappeared into the bed of ferns. Olivar lowered his bow, frowning.

“You scared it away,” Adrian said. “Next time, don’t shout when you see your prey.”

Master Olivar rolled his eyes. “I don’t hunt a lot. I am not a loutish troglodyte like you.”

Adrian grimaced. “I don’t know… what that means.”

“I do not expect you to.” He shoved past the Overseer. Jongin quickly followed, stealing a glimpse of the Overseer.

“It means you’re a caveman,” Jongin told the Overseer because he wanted Adrian to know what it meant. Because it was a good insult. He wanted to hurt Adrian. So, he told him the meaning. And the taller, bigger, older man looked honestly surprised.

Adrian did not reply, though. Jongin walked away, hugging the Counsel’s quivers to his chest. The Jarl, surrounded by the Housecarls, was busy looking for his victims.

Something furious thrummed lowly in the back of my head. It was quiet, but it was surely there.

_Home. Men. Destroy._

“Jongin,” he heard Adrian call his name. He stopped. His heart went crazy. Then he felt the heat of Adrian’s body. “I’m sorry. About—”

“You apologize too much,” Jongin spat, glaring up at the beast. “You think I care? Just stay away fr—” He cut himself short to jump a step back when Adrian started to raise his leathered-enveloped hand to his face.

Embarrassed, Adrian dropped it back to his side and glanced around them. “What happened?” he asked then. It took Jongin a moment to understand that the man was talking about Jongin’s bruised face and lip.

It made his heart beat harder and louder.

_No. Don’t._

_Murderer._

_Monster._

_Bad._

_Evil._

And a soldier. But that seemed like a weak argument.

“I don’t have to tell you,” Jongin spat.

And then he saw anger flash in those fierce blue eyes. “Did someone… do this to you?” Adrian asked. Jongin had seen the man murderous and on warpath. But this… This was different. This anger was something else. And it looked even more fearsome.

“Yes, someone did,” said Jongin, annoyed. Adrian’s eyebrows drew closer together. “But that’s none of your business.”

“Jongin—”

“Stop saying my name, you filthy bastard,” he growled and turned around, stomping away, although a sob was clambering its way up his throat. He needed Adrian to stop saying his name, seriously. It was too much.

While the men and the tigers hunted, Jongin watched the horses. He’d occasionally hand Master Olivar an arrow or his waterskin. Adrian stayed close to the Jarl, but he did not hunt. The Jarl was as exhilarated as the tiger cub Baashere was teaching to hunt.

Jongin finally had to sit down as the Sun climbed up the sky. He decided to enjoy the forest, take it all in. Something told him that this might be the last time he would be here and that made him miserable.

Baashere and the cub managed to hunt two rabbits. And they brought them to Jongin.

Jongin froze against the tree he was sitting against as the tigers dropped their bloodied hunts at his feet. Baashere looked up at Jongin then and snarled ferociously, baring all his teeth, as though to warn Jongin to not to take them or eat them and that those were theirs. But he wanted Jongin to look after them.

Leaving the rabbits with Jongin, Baashere and the cub skipped away once more to hunt again.

Jongin shivered, looking down at the dead rabbits.

“Do you not hunt?” came a voice he’d been hearing all morning. Jongin scrambled up to his feet.

“My Lord,” he gasped, bowing his head at the Jarl, who offered a pleasant smile. “Um… No. I’ve never hunted in my life.”

“That’s too bad,” the Jarl said, grabbing the waterskin from the satchel hanging to his horse. The Housecarls stayed close. “I’m not a great hunter myself.”

“You are,” Jongin said. “You’ve gotten a boar.”

“Compared to him, I’m _average_ ,” the Jarl said, nodding his head toward the Overseer. “Well, anyway. I hope you are at least having a little bit of fun.”

“It is a nice change of scenery,” Jongin said and tried to muster a smile.

“Good. And I also hope Olivar isn’t giving you a hard time. Are you learning anything from him? Because I might have to fire him sooner than I thought.”

Jongin could not tell if the Jarl was being serious or not. “I am not the only candidate for the job, am I?”

“You are the only applicant, I’m afraid. And I’ve heard from Olivar that you know your books and you’re possibly the most well-read boy he’s ever encountered in Dawndale. You must be a fast learner.”

“I am. But only with the proper teacher.”

The Jarl seemed impressed with that. He was a nice man. Perhaps a little naïve, but he was nice. And Jongin was starting to believe that he might be a kind Jarl. Kinder than the kind of ruler Jongin’s father would make, surely.

They managed to hunt a few more rabbits, some chevrotains, and a couple of wild boars before the Jarl decided to call it a day. While they started to get ready to head back to the town, Jongin helped Baashere and the cub pack their hunts. Baashere watched Jongin closely, so that he wouldn’t steal anything that the cub had hunted.

Jongin rolled his eyes at the tiger. “I don’t want your dead rabbits, okay?”

“Jong…” he heard Adrian’s deep voice that rumbled in his chest before the man cleared his throat, walking up to Jongin with a jar of simple in his hands. “It looks bad,” he said nervously, looking at Jongin’s cheek. “This would help take the pain away. A little bit.” He held out the jar.

Jongin scowled, although he was melting on the inside at the gesture. It was, in fact, the nicest thing anyone had done for him in the past couple of weeks. But it was coming from Adrian. So, no.

“I told you to stay away.”

“It’s killing me to see you like… this,” Adrian said and then he looked like he had bitten his tongue. “Fuck, I’m sor…” He stopped himself from apologizing again. “I… I didn’t mean… Just take this.”

“I don’t need it,” Jongin spat.

“Oh… Right. You could… probably afford a better treatment.”

Jongin suddenly recalled what Adrian had said about his mother last night. Why he had stolen from the jeweller. That story had pained Jongin more than he thought it would.

Adrian pursed his lips and pocketed the jar before walking back to his horse.

Why did he do that? Why did he keep coming back?

_Because he loves me. He loves me._

_Love._

_Home._

_Drown._

_To love or to drown…_

* * *

When Jongin returned home that evening, he heard unfamiliar voices coming from the drawing room. Were they having guests tonight, he wondered as he started toward the drawing room. He stopped just outside, eyebrows furrowed as he overheard the conversation his father was having with a couple of men.

“It must be done.”

“I agree,” one of the two strangers conceded. “This time, you won’t fail, Keejhon. We’ll make sure of that.”

“Very well. The Jarl must be taken down. And I am willing to pay whatever price you name.”

“But how are you sure that the people will allow you to take the rein?” the other man asked. “There could be anarchy.”

“I don’t plan on listening to their grouses. I have the money and resources to beat them to submission. And if they still don’t listen, I’d bribe them. These fools would bend over for even a few coins.”

Jongin did not move from where he stood as the two men exited the drawing room. They pinned him with a look but did not say anything. His father than walked out.

“Jongin,” he said.

“You’re doing it again?” Jongin asked, frowning. “Father, please don’t.”

“Shush.” The man hushed him and looked at the two men, who were pulling their coats on. As soon as they were out through the front door, he turned back to Jongin. “Did you say something?”

Jongin swallowed. He did not want to open his mouth. But he felt his blood pulse hard against his temples. “You cannot do this, Father. The Jarl is a good man and he’s done nothing wrong. You won’t make a good and fair ruler. Dawndale will fall in chaos. And before you know it, you will be usurped.”

His father blinked. And then he grinned a sadistic smile. “Look at you. You’d already make a fine Counsel.”

Jongin knew that look. He prepared himself for a beating. “Father, I beg of you. If the Jarl finds out, he won’t spare you.”

This angers his father. “Is that a threat?”

“No! But… But it’s the truth.”

The man closed the distance between them. Jongin retreated a step for every step his father advanced, slowly unbuckling the leather belt he wore around his waist. Jongin’s skin was no stranger to his father’s belts.

“How do you think the old Jarl died, Jongin?” the man asked, taking the belt into his hands, wounding it around one of them.

“What?” Jongin stopped. “He died because of… of a fever.”

“Which I made happen.”

Jongin’s heartbeat seized for a moment as he gaped at his father in horror. “Please… Please, tell me you’re lying.” His eyes began to water.

“I did not become a rich man by playing in accordance to rules, son. You would not have the life you have if I had.”

“You would go to the extent of murdering the Jarl to obtain power?” he cried, furiously now as tears continued to streak his face. “And I… I helped you in a way. You used me.”

“He is wrong for Dawndale!” his father snapped. “and its future! There is only one other man in this town who is as powerful as he.”

“And that’s you?” Jongin asked. “You’re a… murderer.”

“I’m a businessman.” He lifted the belt. “And you need to be taught a lesson.”

He’d say that every time when Jongin disappointed him as a child. “You are a cruel man.”

“Hm. Say that again.”

Jongin broke down. But it did not stop the man from swinging the belt. It struck the same side of his face first. The second blow struck his arm. It did not hurt as much as it used to when he was a child. But in his heart, he felt miserable. It was sorrow like nothing he’d ever experienced.

He silently received the welting until he couldn’t anymore. He had to get out of here. With burning, bright red marks on his face and arms, which felt like they might be bleeding, Jongin backed away to the door.

His father stopped, panting heavily. “Don’t you dare step outside. I will kill you.”

Jongin took that threat very seriously. And he still loved his father so very much. The man used to be his hero. But he couldn’t stop himself as the peace of the forest drew him. He wanted to breathe again.

Bursting out of the house, he ran.

But he did not get too far as he circled around the house and came to an abrupt halt when he saw the shadow near his backyard.

Adrian pulled away from the fence, eyes wide with fright and confusion. They frantically rubbernecked all over Jongin’s bruised face that was streaked with unchecked tears, a small drop of blood trickling out of a cut the belt had inflicted against his neck. Adrian looked baffled in disbelief, as though he were seeing a ghost.

And the next minute, his hand was at his sword.

“Come back here, you ungrateful little wimp!”

_No, no, no. This is bad. Bad._

Adrian’s vicious, murderous eyes shot over Jongin’s shoulder and landed on Jongin’s father, who was stomping after him.

And he moved.

Jongin moved, too.

He ran into Adrian’s arms before the man could draw his sword and drive it through his father’s head. Adrian froze. Taken aback. Jongin buried his throbbing face into the man’s furiously heaving chest as he curled his arms around Adrian’s waist. Jongin heard and felt Adrian’s heart thunder against his chest. He smelled like musk and sandalwood. Like always.

_Love…_

_Love._

_Safe._

“Jongin,” his father yapped. “You get your sorry ass back here!”

And not even Jongin could hold Adrian back any longer. Adrian pulled away from him and with two long strides, he was holding Jongin’s father’s neck in a merciless grip, lifting the man from the ground.

That was the first time Jongin saw the fear of death in his father’s eyes.

“I’ve killed countless men,” Adrian spat through his grit teeth. “But none for my own satisfaction. You shall be my first.”

 

 

##  e n t r’a c t e

 

 

I was fading _._

My spirit was faint and weak.

My thoughts were brief and quiet.

I feel the boy’s love. His anguish. His misery. His confusion. I was becoming him.

I was going to fail.

My tree was about to die.

So was my spirit.

While the murderer lived.

 

 

#  T E N

 

 

“Please, don’t!” Jongin cried.

Adrian did not want to listen. He wanted to crush this bastard’s neck and leave him out for the vultures to peck his eyes out.

“Please,” he heard the boy beg again, quieter this time. “He’s my… father. I don’t want him… hurt.”

Adrian released the man’s neck and let him drop to the ground, coughing. “If you touch him—no. If you even _think_ about touching him again, I will hunt you down and I will kill you in the worst way possible, do you understand?”

He did not stop at that. He booted the man’s face once, sending him groaning against the dirt. Then he turned around to confront the hurt boy.

There was this constant pain in his chest, in his right hand. But that pain was nothing compared to the ache he felt in his heart when he looked at the bruises on Jongin’s face. It crushed his soul.

“Come with me,” he growled and caught hold of Jongin’s arm before hauling him back toward the longhouse.

“Wait—”

“You don’t want to fight me right now. I will throw you over my shoulder, if I have to.”

“No,” Jongin choked. “I’m hurt.”

Adrian halted and released Jongin’s arm at once before turning to him. The boy was crying again. Adrian needed it to stop because he was losing his mind here. And he did not want to cry, too. His eyes were already working their way towards that, though.

“I’m so sorry.”

Jongin wiped his cheeks with the sleeves of his shirt. “I must go home. I have… nowhere else to go.”

“You work for the Jarl. You always have a place in the longhouse.”

The boy blinked his puffy eyes. The marks on his face looked like the work of leather God, Adrian’s heart was _breaking_.

“Come with me,” Adrian said. “Please.”

Jongin did not protest as he followed Adrian to the longhouse.

* * *

Adrian tried not to make too much noise or alert anyone as he led Jongin to his quarters. He knew Vincent was not asleep—he saw Alecc and Sin enter Vincent’s chambers before he left to see Jongin at his house.

Something told him today that he should. The cut on Jongin’s lip had been troubling Adrian all day.

It still felt surreal. The way the boy had impulsively run into his arms, all bruised and broken. Adrian wanted to protect him, tuck him safely away from the unkind world.

What kind of father would hit own his son like this?

The same kind of father who’d abandon his wife and child, leaving them to rot in a town like Dawndale.

A part of Adrian wanted to turn around and walk back to the fucking prick and pull every last one of his teeth out. But for now, he needed Jongin to feel better.

“Come in,” Adrian blurted out as he wrenched the door open and entered. Baashere and Tigo woke up from their beds in the corner of the room. Adrian grabbed a towel before he turned around to see the boy standing idle in the doorway. His eyes were sad. His entire being was sad. Adrian’s breathing quickened. The boy seemed hesitant and reluctant to enter.

“You can come in,” Adrian said in a calmer tone. “I will have the Jarl give you your own space tomorrow. But for now, please. Let me have a look at your wounds.”

Jongin’s gaze softened. He stepped into the room, nervously holding his left wrist in his right hand. The light of the oil lamp on Adrian’s bedside table flickered over the gnarly marks on the boy’s cheeks and deep, purpling contusions on a corner of his mouth.

Baashere leaped up to his paws and went over to Jongin’s side. The boy flinched but did not move away. He sniffled and started crying weakly again when the tiger licked a thick, red welt on his forearm.

Adrian realized he did not have words to comfort the boy. His tongue was too thick, his throat too tight. He wanted to say _something_ to stop the boy from hurting, but what could a fool like him say?

The boy eventually snivelled and wiped his cheeks before looking up at Adrian with a sheepish and rueful thousand-yard stare.

“I don’t want to… be a trouble,” the boy muttered in a shaky, thick voice.

“You won’t,” Adrian said, finding his own voice all scratchy and gravelly. “Sit down… Please.”

Jongin moved toward the bed where Adrian was holding an arm out to. His body was still scorched from feeling the boy’s heat.

Taking a shy seat on an edge of the bed, Jongin kept his head hung, fingers fidgeting around each other. Tigo jumped onto the bed and startled the boy.

“Tigo gets excited,” Adrian said, rubbing the back of his neck. Jongin was panting lightly as he watched Tigo sniff him around, taking all of his scent in. This was new to him. Someone other than Adrian or Baashere was in their room.

“You’re like the keeper of the tigers,” Jongin commented.

“Baashere adopted him,” Adrian said, unsure of why that detailed mattered. But Jongin looked surprised.

“So, he’s not his own?”

“No.” God. The boy he loved was in his room. In his room! On his bed! This was more than anything Adrian had ever dreamed would happen. Sure, the current circumstances weren’t ideal but still…

Adrian glanced down at the towel in his hand. “I will go get some hot water.” Baashere and Tigo kept Jongin company while Adrian quickly snuck away to the kitchen, where he ordered a servant to boil him some water. He then returned to his quarters with a bowl of hot water and found Jongin in the same spot he had been in when Adrian left.

Tigo, however, had curled up into a ball in Jongin’s lap. Baashere had also settled down on the bed behind Jongin with a tail hooked protective around the boy.

Jongin looked scared and confused. But he had a trembly hand rubbing the cub’s head.

Adrian closed the door. The boy’s head whipped up.

“They are… very friendly,” he said to Adrian. “Tigers… Friendly tigers…”

“Yeah. Some are not what they may appear to be,” Adrian said, and the boy’s eyes glimmered a little before they briefly glanced to the letter lying on the bedside table.

Adrian had gotten the letter a while ago. He didn’t read it, though. He couldn’t. He didn’t know how to. But he knew whom it was from.

Jongin shuddered when Adrian sank into the bed beside him. He almost looked like he would get up. But he didn’t. He anxiously eyed the bowl in Adrian’s hand.

Adrian dipped the towel into the warm water and strained it. He then, without thinking much, brought it to the boy’s face. Before it had even touched his skin, Jongin blenched away.

“I’m sorry,” Adrian whispered. “I know this is not… optimal for you. I have dirt under my fingernails. My hands are rough like the skin of a bull. I’m sorry you’re going to have to endure this but… please.”

 _Please._ He lost count of how many times he had said ‘please’ today to Jongin. But it felt right. It felt right to beg for the boy’s permission because Adrian should never be allowed to touch something so supple and delicate and highborn.

Jongin did not flinch again when Adrian pressed the warm cloth to his cheek. He clenched his eyes tightly instead and winced. He tried to stay still for the cub pretending to be asleep on his thighs.

Adrian found it difficult to breathe as his dabbed the towel against the bruises on the boy’s cheek to ease up the clotting blood.

“I want to kill him,” Adrian said before he realized he was thinking out loud. Jongin’s eyes turned toward him. “Why would he… do this to you?”

“I’m an insolent child… he says,” Jongin exhaled and then hissed when Adrian pressed the warm towel a little harder on his cheekbone. “I am.”

“Why didn’t you fight back?”

Jongin was silent for a moment. Then he said, “He’s my _father_.”

Adrian could not empathize with that sentiment. He never had a father. So, he was pretty certain he would have killed the bastard if he were in Jongin’s shoes.

Tigo got off the boy’s lap eventually and went to sleep against Baashere. The bigger tiger gave the cub a lick on its head.

Jongin’s empty, antsy hands were now clenching and releasing fretfully. He looked uncomfortable. Adrian pulled the towel away from the boy’s face before he pulled himself away, enough to create a safe gap between them.

“You’re safe here,” Adrian reassured him, quietly. Jongin did not raise his head as he continued to stare at his feet. “Are you… all right?”

Then the boy shook his head, slowly, sorrowfully. “He’s done it all his life.” He closed his eyes. “Not the hitting. He only does it when he gets so mad. But he’s always… always treated me like this. Like I’m not the kind of son he had been hoping for. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps. I have always been a disappointment to him, even though I try everything to be the best. Which is why I studied well, I did everything he asked me to do. But… I was just not good at what he wanted me to be. He never cared about what made _me_ happy.”

 _What makes you happy,_ Adrian wanted to ask.

“He’s a bad man,” Jongin then said, a new tear rolling down his reddened cheek. Adrian lifted a hand to wipe it away before he dropped it back to the mattress, biting his lip. “He’s a very bad man.”

Adrian dropped his own head. “And you don’t like them, do you?”

Jongin glanced up at him. He was quiet again. Sighing loudly, Adrian rose from the bed and fetched the salve from the bedside drawers. “This would help,” he said, holding the canister of salve out to the boy. “I keep them for when I get wounds, though I rarely use it.”

“I don’t want it,” Jongin said.

“Take it, anyway. Or you’ll have a tough morning tomorrow.”

After a moment of hesitation, the boy accepted the canister. He uncapped it and dipped a finger into it before pulling it out, slick with the honey-coloured salve.

It was the obscenest thing Adrian had ever scene. It almost made him choke on air. He wanted to turn away, but he couldn’t. So, he looked fixedly at the boy apply the salve on the bright pink welt on his forearm. Adrian had a hard time swallowing.

“You can stay here tonight,” he said to distract himself as Jongin slid another finger into the canister. “I’ll make sure Vincent gives you your own room tomorrow.”

“I should go home.”

“No.”

Surprisingly, the boy did not argue any further. He looked too fatigued to do that. “Okay,” he muttered and lifted two slick fingers to his cheek. He paused. Frowned.

Adrian needed to walk away right now. But he sat back down on the bed instead and gently took hold of the boy’s wrist.

Jongin did not shudder at his touch this time. He only stared into Adrian’s eyes as Adrian guided the boy’s fingers along the bruise, his leathered hand loosely wrapped around Jongin’s slender wrist. _Slender._ Very.

“Here,” he let out and released Jongin’s wrist. He brought his thumb to the throbbing strip of red along the boy’s cheek to spread the salve evenly. If felt cool between their hot skin.

Adrian noticed Jongin’s breathing shallowing as their eyes bored into each other. Adrian’s mouth turned dry as he gently cupped a side of the boy’s jaw. God, he wanted to kiss the boy again. And this time, against the bed. And hard. Until he had exhausted Jongin through and through.

He almost leaned in.

But then Jongin backed away, scowling to himself.

Adrian jolted off the bed, scratching his head. “There’s a mirror in the bathing chamber,” he said breathlessly.

Jongin nodded once and started for the bathing chamber with the canister. He stopped. Turned. “Could I borrow a… shirt? I haven’t changed mine after the hunt.”

Adrian was going to lose every last bit of his sanity. He had never imagined the boy in his own shirt. Now, it was happening in reality?

“Uh, sure.” He did not have a wide range of shirts available to him. He had a couple of clean ones, thankfully. He pulled one out of the wardrobe and handed it to the boy.

Adrian restlessly paced the room, tugging uncomfortably at the leather wound around his hand. Baashere rose and picked up Tigo between his teeth before jumping off the bed. They returned to their own bedding in the corner.

“I need to calm down,” he said to himself and unbuckled the sword belt. He set the sword aside before glancing back at the bathing chamber. He then ran a hand through the stubble on a side of his head which he had shaved off yesterday. “Just because he agreed to come here, it doesn’t mean he likes you, Adrian.” He needed to remind himself that this was the last place the boy would have wanted to be at apart from the streets.

Jongin silently ambled out of the bathing chamber, eyes cast low. A fire took a deep seat in Adrian’s belly as he leered at the _huge_ shirt barely clinging to the boy’s bony shoulders. Jongin discarded his own shirt on the bedside table before he gazed up at Adrian.

“I don’t want to bother you,” he then said.

“Where else would you go?”

Jongin hadn’t an answer. He looked sadder then. “I don’t have any friends in Dawndale. Or just… anywhere.”

Adrian almost laughed. “Neither do I. Other than Vincent.”

Jongin grimaced. “You’re friends with the Jarl. You do not _need_ any other friends.”

“I might need just one more.” Adrian smiled. Jongin blushed and looked away. Adrian cleared his throat. “I’m glad you’re here. I… I’m sorry about what happened, but all you have to do is say the word and I will make your father pay.”

Jongin’s eyes blew up in terror. “No, don’t do anything to him.”

Adrian let out a heavy breath. “All right. You should get some sleep. Do you want anything else?”

The boy shook his head, but he was now staring at the bed that was between them as they stood on either side of it.

“You… sleep on the bed,” Adrian said before the boy could ask anything about the sleeping situation. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Jongin nodded his head again. “Are you sure?”

“I have slept on worse things,” Adrian admitted. “Or if you’re concerned about… something else, you could sleep here alone. I’ll find someplace else tonight.”

“No, no,” the boy said quickly. “I’ve already caused you enough trouble. I… I trust you.”

_I trust you…_

Adrian was unmoving for a moment. Jongin rubbed at the bruise on his arm. Adrian gulped. “Just let me know if you need anything.” With that, he hurried into the bathing chamber for a long, cold bath.

When he stepped out of the bathing chamber again, Jongin was already in the bed with the eiderdown pulled all the way up to his neck. His breathing was steady and loud.

The boy he loved was asleep in his bed. Fuck.

After what had happened last night, Adrian had thought everything was shattered between them. Not that there was anything solid built in the first place, anyway.

He grabbed a blanket and settled on the floor by the foot of the bed. Tucking an arm under his head, Adrian stared up at the ceiling. He wanted to keep Jongin safe. For as long as he possibly could.

A cutting pain knifed at his chest. He drew the right sleeve of his shirt up to his elbow and frowned at the black veins crawling on the inside of his arm. They were growing, and he was starting to lose some sensation on the tip of his fingers. It was harder to grip his sword.

A warm fur bristled against his legs. He lifted his head to look at Baashere who curled up at his feet.

Adrian let himself drift off to sleep to the sound of Jongin’s even, lulling breaths.

* * *

The midnight roused him. The room was unusually warm. Something was tugging at the leather strips between his fingers. Adrian groaned drowsily as he cracked an eye open to scowl at Baashere.

“Go back to sleep, Baashere,” he grumbled.

The tiger growled at him then, snapping his teeth. Adrian blinked and sat up. His head frantically and sharply turned to the bed. He heard whimpers. Muffled cries.

Hastily scrabbling up to his feet with his heart roaring in his throat, Adrian lunged at the bed. Jongin had his eyes clenched painfully tight, his chapped lips parted and panting. His skin was glistening with sweat, hands fisting the eiderdown like he wanted to rip it.

A struggled cry escaped his lips.

“Forest. I can’t… The tree. The tree!” he cried in his sleep, a tear falling from a corner of his eye.

Baashere circled around the bed to stand on the other side.

Adrian drew several breaths before he knelt onto the bed and took hold of one of the boy’s hand. “Hey, Jongin?” he called in an attempt to wake him up. The boy stirred and cried again. “Jongin, wake up. It’s just a nightmare.”

He cupped the boy’s cheek, his long and hard fingers curling halfway around the boy’s head. He was not waking up.

Adrian moved to kneel on either side of Jongin’s waist to reach the forgotten bowl of water on the table. But before he could, the boy’s eyes flashed open as his free hand flung up and struck Adrian’s face.

Then both his hands flew up to clutch at Adrian’s shirt and the boy yanked him down to the bed. Adrian was barely catching up with anything that was going on and before he knew it, Jongin was straddling his hips on top, his fists viciously tight around Adrian’s neck. His fingernails dug into the skin, pressing against the thundering pulse.

Adrian wasn’t sure he even wanted to breathe. The boy’s eyes were _wild_ with fire. Lethal and confused. Ardent and sad. His ass was pressed upon Adrian’s dick.

A dangerous game, this was. And Adrian only had so much power to control himself.

His hands came up to grip the sides of the boy’s waist. In his clench, Jongin squirmed and whimpered, his hands loosening around Adrian’s neck, but he did not remove them. His eyes rolled back as Adrian gripped his waist harder.

“Drown,” Jongin begged in a weak moan that sounded like a sob. “No… No… Drown. Murderer.”

When his eyes fluttered open again, he was wide awake. He pulled his hands away from Adrian’s neck and scrambled off the man. Kneeling on the bed as Adrian propped himself up on his elbows, Jongin stared at him with crazy wide eyes.

“I… I…” He swallowed, lips pressed into a thin line.

Adrian sat up, taking in large gulps of air. “Are you… all right?”

Jongin looked too embarrassed to answer.

“You had a bad dream,” Adrian said, raising a hand to the boy’s arm. Jongin tensed under the touch. Adrian retrieved his hand. “It’s okay.”

 _Murderer._ Did Jongin mean him? Or someone in his nightmare?

“Sleep,” Adrian then said, climbing out of the bed. Baashere was gawking at them with horrified, ballooned eyes, as though he no longer had a clue of what was going on. Adrian waited until Jongin was tucked back in the eiderdown before he returned to his spot on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he heard the boy whisper into the faint darkness of the room.

 

 

#  E L E V E N

 

 

The bruises on his face and arms stung when he bestirred himself awake. The early morning Sun that spilled through the windows gently warmed where it touched on his skin.

Jongin nuzzled into the feather eiderdown, inhaling it. It was nowhere near as soft as the ones he had at home. But it smelled of musk and sandalwood. And a hint of grubby tigers. Something warm and furry was nudging against his back.

He opened his eyes to find Baashere and the tiger cub sleeping behind him. Oh, God. He was sleeping with tigers. Duke would not like it very much if Jongin went back to him smelling like a bunch of cats.

He shifted to lay on his back. Last night was… intense.

He recalled his father losing his patience. He recalled the welting. He recalled running away from him.

God, he had run away from home.

This was bad.

He then recalled Adrian.

The nightmare.

His hands wrapped around the man’s bullneck.

Adrian could have snapped him like a twig right then and there. Instead, he had let Jongin tighten his hands around his throat. The nightmare had been petrifying. He dreamed of the forest, dying. The trees were all cut down by men, leaving nothing but a barren ground behind.

_Home. Destroyed. Spirits. Destroyed._

He saw them in his dream. He saw those nymphs. The Hamadryads. They looked like nothing, but he knew they were there. Devasted and lost.

He had no idea what the dream had meant. But it made him sad and anxious.

Sitting up, he scoured the floor to look for Adrian. He found the man sleeping at the foot of the bed with an arm draped over his eyes and the other pillowing his head.

Blood rushed to Jongin’s cheeks as he leered at the unlaced slit of the man’s shirt that exposed his haired chest.

Last night, Adrian had made him feel things he had never felt for the man before. Jongin could not describe them. All that he knew was that Adrian could have easily chosen to dump Jongin’s rump on the streets after all that’s Jongin had put him through. But he had been compassionate. And he was a… kind man.

Unlike the man Jongin had been proud to call his father all these years, begging for the man’s approval.

Adrian was a boor, sure. A soldier. A murderer. But what he had said last night had burned into Jongin’s heart.

He had never killed for himself. And he was willing to do it for Jongin.

For as long as he had been alive, Jongin had felt like a sea with no waves, like a rain with no ground to wet. But last night, he had felt his heart flutter like that for the first time. Like he meant something at last.

The Overseer’s chest rose and fell steadily. His breathing was loud and heavy. The hem of his shirt was slightly raised to put some of his abdominal muscles and the trail of hair beneath his navel on display. Jongin curled his bottom lip between his teeth. He felt dirty for ogling a sleeping man.

Shoving the eiderdown away, he sat up to get a closer look. He wondered what his father would do if he found out that his betrothed son was thinking of filthy things to do the man sleeping before his eyes. Not just any man. A soldier.

He had seen the way Adrian had looked the other night when the Hold Guard Captain had his hand in the Overseer’s pants. He had seen the look again last night when he was straddling the man. His eyes wandered back to Adrian’s chest.

The veins. They were still there. Darker. Scarier. Pulsing.

Jongin stuck a foot out and slowly brought his toes to brush along the cleft of the slumbering man’s chest. The black veins throbbed against his toes. Then so did the heart. The chest was warm against the cold sole of his foot.

He pulled it back with a sharp gasp when Adrian withdrew the arm from his face and jolted up, a hand flitting to grab Jongin’s ankle.

“Ah,” Jongin rasped as Adrian brutally gripped his ankle before he was even fully awake. “You’re… hurting me.”

Adrian let go immediately, sitting upright. He rubbed his eyes on the hilt of his palms and mumbled, “What were you doing?”

Jongin drew his leg back up and hugging it to his chest. “Nothing,” he lied.

Adrian glanced up at him with a pair of furrowed eyebrows. “Shit,” he then said. “I forgot you were… here.” He stopped to take a good look at Jongin, as though for an affirmation saying that he was not dreaming. “Wow.”

Jongin turned his face away before he could get too red. “What’s wrong with your chest?” He wasn’t sure why he was asking. But he was curious.

Adrian looked down at his unlaced shirt and scowled. He quickly laced it up and climbed up to his feet. He did not answer the question as he sauntered into the bathing chamber.

Exhaling heavily, Jongin glanced at the letter lying about on the bedside table. It was the same crumpled letter he had delivered to Adrian a few weeks ago. He picked it up and scrutinized it back and front. He had an itch to open and read it.

It would wrong, wouldn’t it? To poke through another man’s belongings. But Jongin was agog with interest. Who would send this man a letter? A lover perhaps?

He opened the letter and perused the chaotic handwriting.

_Dear Adrian,_

_I miss you dearly. You have been in my thoughts and prayers since you left Greenmire. I hope you are fine. I am fine here. Father has asked me to work at his shop. He even pays me wages. I miss our days together. How is Baashere? I know you won’t write me back._

_Love, Arwin._

Jongin wanted to rip the letter into pieces.

“Well, now that you’ve read it,” Adrian said, startling Jongin out of his skin. Jongin turned to the Overseer, who was standing in the doorway of the bathing chamber. “why don’t you tell me what it says.”

Jongin’s face pinked with embarrassment. “I… didn’t mean to.”

The Overseer wore a blank expression. “You did. But do tell me. What’s written?”

Jongin was confused. “Why?”

Adrian shrugged. “I can’t read.”

“Oh,” he let out, lowering his gaze back to the letter. He read it out loud. And when he raised his head again, he found Adrian smiling. So, a lover.

Jongin wasn’t sure why that angered him as much as it did.

“Arwin,” Adrian scoffed. It almost sounded like a chuckle. He wandered to the wardrobe and pulled his uniform jacket out. “I suggest you wash up and get ready. I must go see the Jarl.”

Putting the letter back on the table, Jongin rose from the bed and headed for the bathing chamber. He paused and looked back at Adrian, who was removing his shirt, back facing Jongin.

He gulped as he watched the clefts and dimples on Adrian’s muscled back deepen and his solid hard biceps flex as he pulled on another shirt.

“Who is… Arwin?” he asked without a thought. He bit his tongue when Adrian turned to him with an arched brow.

“What?”

Jongin wanted the earth to swallow him up. “The… letter. Who… was it from?”

Adrian stared at him vacantly. Then at length, he said, “Someone I knew in Greenmire.”

“A friend?”

“Yes.”

“A friend who’s more than a friend?”

That made Adrian smirk faintly, and Jongin hated him for that. “Why the sudden curiosity about me?”

“Because you said you don’t have any friends besides the Jarl.”

“All right. Yes. Arwin was more than just a friend.”

Jongin’s insides burned. “Oh.”

“It ended the day I left Greenmire,” Adrian added.

“Oh,” Jongin repeated. “And now you’re with… Captain Rolland.”

Adrian’s smile died. “No.” He inhaled sharply. “What you saw the other night was… was nothing. I was drunk. I stopped it.”

Why did that not appease Jongin? He wanted to see Rolland’s hand chopped off for touching Adrian. But he shrugged and walked into the bathing chamber.

Standing before the slightly warped mirror, he checked the bruises on his face. They didn’t look as bad as they felt. The salve must have worked.

Shimmying out of his clothes, he started for the tub of water. He dipped a hand in and shivered. It was not too cold, at least. Adrian had left it lukewarm and smelling like sandalwood.

He slid into the pool of tepid water and acknowledged the hardness between his thighs. It had been there since he had seen Adrian take his shirt off. Gnawing at his lower lip, Jongin glided a hand between his legs and took himself in his hand. He seldom did this. But whenever he did, he’d think of a big, strong man holding him, mounting him. And now, all that he could think of Adrian’s stubble grazing along his neck.

* * *

He needed to get the boy out of his rooms. Adrian did not think he could survive another day or night with Jongin so close to his reach. It had already driven him half mad, restraining himself from touching and ravaging the boy for one night.

He was _hungry_. The morning had been tough. Instead of focusing on his bath, Adrian had given himself some pleasure, fantasizing about having the boy’s mouth on him, wrapped beautifully around his cock before Adrian would fuck his throat. He could not afford to think about this all day long.

Striding over to the Jarl’s quarters, Adrian gave the door a rap before he burst in, which turned out to be one his gravest mistakes as he found Vincent naked in bed with two other men at his sides.

The half-brothers sat up, each bearing love marks all over their bodies. Alecc looked at Adrian with bulging eyes. Vincent stirred, mumbling sleepily.

Sin stroked his blonde hair, smiling.

Adrian gripped his jaw. “Get out,” he growled at the Housecarls. “ _Now_. Get back to the work you’re getting _paid_ for.”

They slipped out of the bed at once and started getting dressed. Vincent pulled his eyes open and frowned at Adrian. “Adrian?”

“We need to talk,” Adrian said, picking up the discarded eiderdown from the floor and tossing it over the Jarl’s bared body.

“Couldn’t it wait?” Vincent groaned, sitting up. His eyes turned to Alecc and then to Sin. The bastard already looked aroused again. “I’m barely awake.”

“It’s important.” Adrian glowered at the Housecarls, who hurried out of the bedchamber.

Vincent sighed and reached for the canter of wine on the bedside table. “What is it?”

“How long do you plan on keeping this going?” It was not what he wanted to talk about.

Vincent’s eyes narrowed. “Keep what going?”

“This, Vince. You can’t… keep doing this with both of them.”

“They have no problem with it.” He shrugged.

“Until they do. You shouldn’t be playing with their feelings.”

“I’m not,” Vincent said. “I like them, Adrian. And they like me.”

“You’re the Jarl. They’re obligated to like you by _law_.”

Vincent harrumphed and stood up from the bed, grabbing his robe. “It isn’t like that, Adrian. And it isn’t the important matter you needed to talk to me about.”

“No,” Adrian sighed.

“Then get on with it. The Counsel is making me attend an Audience with the townspeople. It’s about time I heard their plaints and grievances.”

“You’re not excited about that?”

Vincent frowned. “I want to help them in any way I can,” he said genuinely. “I want them to think of me as the Jarl they want me to be. But I’m not sure I can be that… What would I even say to them?”

“That’s why you have your council helping you out. Don’t be nervous. You will do fine.”

“The last time I tried to do _fine_ , someone tried to kill me.” He laughed. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Adrian chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment. “The boy. He’s… here.”

Vincent had never looked more puzzled in his life. “What boy? And where?”

“The tea merchant’s son.”

“Uh… I know he’s here.”

“No. He is in my chambers.”

Vincent’s eyes widened at that. “Why?”

“He left home. His father is a dick.”

“Oh.”

“You need to get him a safe place to stay.”

“He’s an apprentice of the Counsel.”

“I don’t care, Vincent. I need him safe.”

The Jarl looked at him in surprise. “You care about the boy?”

“Yes, I do.” He did not even stutter. “I will not have him go back to that fucking son of a bitch.”

For a length, Vincent said nothing. He just mustered Adrian from head to toe, swigging the content of the winecup. “What happened?” he then asked.

“I found him welted last night. He had nowhere to go. I let him stay in my quarters.”

“Huh… Well, we’ll find him a pallet with the rest of the servants.”

Adrian did not like the sound of that. “Something better than that, Vincent. The boy’s slept on feather mattresses in the luxury of his home since the day he was born.”

“But he is a servant here, Adrian,” Vincent said. “I cannot give him special treatment just because his daddy’s rich.”

“That’s not… what I meant. It wouldn’t be right to do that to him. He cannot lose everything in one day.”

“Well, trust me, he hasn’t. He’d be crawling back home in a couple of days. Poncey gits like the kid would not last a day out in the open world.”

“You’re a poncey git, too.”

“Which is why I know.” He smiled. “You can keep him in your bed if you’re too worried.”

That would be worse. “What about a small room in Counsel Olivar’s quarters?”

“Hmm. I’ll talk to him. But believe me. The tea merchant will be here today, demanding his son back.”

“I’d like to see him try.”

Vincent had a funny look on his face then. “It is funny that I’ve never noticed that you care for the boy. I didn’t even think… you took note of his existence.”

With a lockjaw, Adrian said, “Not everyone is as demonstrative as you are.”

A chambermaid entered the bedchamber. Vincent leered at her openly as she bent over to change the sheets. Adrian rolled his eyes.

“How is the ball coming along?”

“Fine,” Vincent said. “I’m hoping to see quite a turnout. The Jarls of Freshbrook and Everwhite have agreed to come.”

It only struck Adrian then. “You’re trying to form an alliance with them.”

“Yes. And with the Jarls of Streamland and Harrowwind.”

Adrian let out a snort of relief. “That’s what the ball is for. You’re courting alliances.”

“And building my own council as you advised.”

“That is brilliant, Vince. I almost thought you were… going nowhere with this.”

“I have a few days to prepare my selling point. I need to wheedle them. What Dawndale’s been missing all these years is enough resources. We need to get them. We need aid. And for that, I need to form friendships and alliances out of Dawndale. Unlike my father, who had maintained great relations but only within the walls of this town. We need money. We have to build bigger buildings. I want to give the townspeople better facilities. More schools. Better teachers. We’ll learn good with good teachers.”

“These Jarls will expect something in return, Vincent. What do you have to offer?” Adrian asked.

“A promise for the future.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“It will be. Because if Dawndale does not see a single progress in the coming years, I can assure you the hold will be expropriated. It is closer to the trade routes. I’m sure the Jarls would want to take advantage of a shortcut to the sea and harbours.”

Adrian smiled. “That is a compelling case you make.” He bowed his head. “I’m glad you’re working this out. And trust me. Once you tire of Counsel Olivar, the boy would make a great Counsel. And… Rolland would make a fine Overseer.”

He almost did not want to say it. But he had to. He was worried that he did not have much time. He might not die soon but a soldier was only as useful as the hand that wielded his weapon.

“Why are you saying that?” Vincent scowled. “I _have_ an Overseer.”

“It will not be bad idea to consider a locum.”

“I don’t need a locum.” He scoffed. “You’re not going anywhere, are you? You told me you’re in Dawndale to stay.”

“I am,” Adrian muttered. “But… Forget I said anything. You should scrub yourself and make yourself present at the Audience. You reek of sex.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He grinned.

* * *

There was a crowd at the Audience. It was the first one held since the passing of the previous Jarl. And the people seemed agitated to approach the new one.

The farmers came forth to express their worries about this year’s harvest. It hadn’t been good. They might need other sources of food. Vincent consulted his Counsel and Treasurer. The Counsel advised the Jarl to borrow from the towns nearby.

“We could fish more,” it was the boy who suggested. He stood close to Counsel Olivar at all times. Adrian almost never took his eyes off Jongin from where he stood at the side of the Jarl’s throne.

“You, child, seriously think we have not already considered that?” Olivar yapped at him. “When the monsoon season comes, we cannot send our anglers and boats to the sea.”

“We must hoard the fishes before the monsoon season, then,” Jongin said.

“They’ll rot! We cannot keep them for months.”

“Dry them. Like tea leaves. Salt them. Preserve them.”

That quieted the Counsel. Vincent seemed intrigued.

“The farmers should not be the only ones providing food. Everyone should do their own gardening. Grow their own crops. Sell them to one another,” the boy went on to say. “We could consider winter crops like spinach.”

“Our people are not that self-reliant,” said the Treasurer.

“Maybe it’s because you do not give them enough credit. The old Jarl thought of us as dependent and took a lot of taxes, making us believe that he had do _everything_ for us. Maybe it is about time we changed that. If the people wanted Dawndale to thrive, then they should all pitch in.”

That annoyed the Treasurer.

Vincent raised a hand to stop the debate. “I agree. With the kid. It would not be such a bad thing to fish more while we can and preserve what we catch. If the harvest is bad this year, then each home should grow their own crops. Rice, flour, and wheat will be rationed strictly. Let the cattle breed for the next year. Do not butcher the young ones.”

The farmers seemed pleased with the adjudication. Adrian wanted to give Vincent’s shoulder a squeeze to tell him he was proud. Of course, Adrian could not have come up with even that simple solution but a boy almost half his age had.

And he was proud of Jongin, too. He brought a fresher, younger perspective to the court.

Another man came forward with his grievances about the tavern that had been broken into. He had lost almost all of his properties and he demanded a loan from the Jarl to build the tavern back.

“That is too large a sum,” the Treasurer said.

“I have two children to feed,” the man appealed.

“It isn’t our problem now, is it?”

Vincent was looking to Jongin now. “What do you think?” he asked.

Jongin looked surprised. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

He thought about it for a heartbeat. “A tavern is not a necessity for the welfare of the town,” he said. Some of the Housecarls in the great hall grimaced at him. “But it is a source of leisure and relaxation. All towns need that.”

“There are plenty of other taverns in Dawndale,” argued the Counsel.

“But this man makes a life out of it. I would give him the loan, My Lord. And charge some fair interest rates.”

 _What are interest rates,_ Adrian wondered.

“What would be the fair amount?” the Jarl asked.

“Five percent of his revenues,” Jongin answered. “And you could use whatever additional money you earn to develop public facilities in the town.”

Vincent smiled. “You’re not wrong.” He turned to the man. “Is that a satisfactory solution to your problem?”

The man nodded. “Yes, My Lord.”

“Very well.” He looked at the very unpleased Treasurer now. “Get this man his loan.”

“Yes, Your Lordship,” the Treasurer sighed.

By the time the Audience had come to an end, Jongin was consulted for a solution seven times. He came with new, unheard of solutions to the problems. They were clever, succinct, a little complex, but better than the traditional and simple ways. And Adrian could tell that Jongin’s train of thought matched Vincent’s.

Although Olivar was annoyed in the beginning, he soon began to be intrigued by Jongin’s solutions, too. He even looked a little proud, even though this basically meant he could be out of work any day now.

“Counsel Olivar,” Vincent called after the Audience. “I am impressed with what you’ve taught your apprentice.”

The Counsel laughed nervously. “Of course… My Lord.”

“The boy stays in the longhouse from now. I suggest you give him the small room in your study to live in.”

“What?!”

“Well, there’s no harm. The study’s about to become his, anyway.” Vincent winked and smirked before walking away. Adrian stopped for a moment to look at the boy, who was talking to a servant, smiling at her.

Adrian smiled to himself, holding his hands at his back. Jongin’s eyes then met his. The boy smiled from across the hall. He looked happy. The happiest Adrian had ever seen him. Probably because today, he had found a purpose to be useful to someone and was appreciated for it.

 

 

#  T W E L V E

 

 

Jongin expected his father to show up at any moment. But a week went by and he heard nothing from his family. A part of him was relieved but the other part of him grieved. They could simply just wash their hands off him like that, could they?

Yes, they could. He was nothing but a burden to them, anyway. A burden that did not coincide with his father’s intentions.

Living in the longhouse was _difficult_ , to say the least. It was nothing like he had ever been accustomed to. He did not have his own bathroom, wardrobe, a bed. There was a pallet on the floor in the small cramped hole he was given in the Counsel’s study. The Counsel wasn’t there at night, so it was usually too quiet. He shared the bathing facility with all the other Housecarls and servants. It was _disgusting._ And he had two shirts, one pair of trousers, and boots. One of those shirts was not even his. Speaking of which, he should probably return it to Adrian.

It was starting to smell more like him than like the Overseer.

On the fifth day of his stay there, he found a couple of raggedy tunics and trousers on his pallet. It was addressed to him. It looked better than the ones the servants wore. He was not going to complain. The Jarl had said that Jongin would soon be paid. Then he could just go and purchase some new clothing.

He was homesick the next day. He doubted that he missed his father. But he missed his mother, her warm embraces, her tomato soup. He missed Fanin and her subtle jokes. He missed Duke. He missed home.

 _Not… home,_ he heard him think often. He did that less now. He didn’t _hear_ his thoughts a lot anymore.

Some nights, he’d have the nightmare again. He’d dream of the forest. Then everything would smell like musk and sandalwood. Then there was the ocean. His hands were wrapped around Adrian’s neck as the man drowned.

He’d wake up crying. And then he’d cry some more in the dark, cold, lonely room. He did not like sleeping alone in there but it would be impossible to fit another person in here.

He kept himself busy with the errands Olivar assigned to him most of the day. Sometimes, the Jarl would summon him, seeking his advice. One time, he told Jongin that he was very smart, and he knew a lot about stars after Jongin could not shut up the previous night when he had given the Jarl and the Overseer an entire lecture on how the constellations worked.

Adrian had worn seriously baffled expression. He didn’t understand half of the things Jongin said. But it was okay. He smiled at Jongin in the end, anyway.

The Treasurer was starting to loath Jongin’s being in the longhouse. He did not support Jongin’s methods of solving the Jarl’s problems. But they were more practical for the current day.

During his hectic days in the longhouse, sometimes, he’d see the Overseer. The man would once in a while yell at the Housecarls to do better at their job, but he mostly stuck by the Jarl. Whenever they met, Adrian would make this face that made his blue eyes go up in azure flames. And he’d smile a little. Jongin would have to fight the urge to keep staring at the man.

Sometimes, he doesn’t. Sometimes, he just stared. Because he liked what he saw.

Somewhere along the way, he had even started to wonder what it’d feel like to have the man fuck him.

 _Drown… Oath_ …

_No more…_

_Love… Safe… Adrian._

He had mixed feelings about all of this. One moment, he’d resent the man for _everything._ The next, he would be wondering if the man also thought of what it would be like to hold Jongin down against a bed and rut into him senseless.

On the seventh day, his father finally showed up. He stood before the Jarl and requested an Audience.

Jongin stayed quiet, standing closer to the Jarl than to his father, who was sporting his businessman face.

“I’ve come to take my son home. He will no longer work here,” he said coolly.

“You will do no such thing,” Adrian snapped, his hand gripped his sword. “Get out of here before I take your last breath.”

Although Jongin’s father had seemed unfazed by the threat, his eyes quivered a little.

Vincent sat up straighter in his throne. “Your son works here. And I believe he is an adult. You can take him with you if he wants to go with you,” he said. “Otherwise, I suggest you take your leave. I don’t think my Overseer has an unlimited amount of patience.”

When his father turned to him, Jongin had lowered his head. Out of habit. But he didn’t move from where he stood.

“Very well,” his father spat and turned on his heel before leaving the great hall.

Jongin exhaled finally. Adrian was looking at him now with relieved eyes.

That evening, Jongin sat outside the longhouse and shared a bottle of ale with Sin and Alecc. Baashere and Tigo sat with them, too until Baashere could no longer stand Sin’s singing.

The next day, Jongin found the Overseer in the training arena, sweating through his shirt with his greatsword in his leather-covered hand. He was panting hard, staring at the wooden block he had destroyed.

“You can come in,” Adrian said, without looking back at Jongin.

Swallowing, Jongin walked into the arena. “You fight good,” he said and immediately felt stupid for it.

Adrian turned around and laughed. “I fight… good? Well, thanks. I suppose I’ve learned to not to expect praises from you.”

Jongin chewed on his lip. Then at length, he said, “Can I… hold it?”

Adrian blinked.

“It looks big and heavy, but can I?”

Adrian blinked again. Jongin stared at him. “Oh!” he then gasped. “You mean the sword… Of course. Um.” He stammered and rubbed the back of his sweaty neck. “Here.”

Jongin took hold of it both hands. God, it was heavier than it looked. It had seemed so light in Adrian’s grip, though.

“Give it a swing,” the Overseer said.

Jongin shook his head. “I can barely lift it.”

Adrian smiled and moved to stand behind Jongin, who tensed up instantly. The fine hairs on his nape rose when felt the heat of Adrian’s breath stroke his neck.

He almost flinched when the Overseer lifted a hand. But it stopped from rising to Jongin’s forearm.

“Would it be okay… if I… held your arms?” Adrian asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. It almost drove Jongin over the edge of his sanity and a part of him wondered if Adrian did it on purpose. “Please?”

Why did he do that? Jongin noticed it. Adrian said ‘please’ and ‘I’m sorry’ _too much_. And that too to a boy who had done nothing but debase him from day one.

He did not do it anymore, though. He was a servant now, wasn’t he? Sure, he still had a name people respected and he still belonged to two whole social classes above Adrian. But he could no longer find the pride to hurt the man. Or maybe he just did not want to do it. Maybe he was finally starting to accept that he was attracted to this bastard. A soldier. A murderer. An illiterate.

His heart would not stop fluttering and thundering. He was worried that Adrian might even hear it racing like the hooves of a galloping horse.

“Okay,” he let out in a small breath.

Adrian’s big, calloused hands came around his wrists. They were gentle. Jongin wanted to know why the man always wore the leather strips around his right hand that now went all the way up to his elbow. Was it to hide a scar, perhaps?

Whatever it was, Jongin wanted to see it.

“To get a strong grip, you must,” Adrian muttered so close to his ear that Jongin was gripping strongly, all right. “wrap your one hand around here and the other here.” His rough fingers curled around Jongin’s, coaxing them up and down. Jongin’s heart was hollering. Adrian’s arms were now around him.

“You slash. Not stab,” Adrian said, lifting the sword along with Jongin’s hands. “Diagonally.”

They swung. It was a sloppy swing, even Jongin could see that. But that was all on him, certainly not the professional swordfighter.

“That wasn’t bad,” the Overseer remarked and took a step back, letting go off the sword and Jongin’s hands. Jongin almost dropped it before Adrian retrieved the sword from his weak grip with a pleasant smile. Even brutes like him could smile the smile that turned Jongin’s knees to water.

His eyes fell on the leather around Adrian’s hand again.

“Can I see it?” he blurted out.

Adrian’s wide, icy eyes shot up. “Wh-What?”

“That.” Jongin pointed at his hand. Adrian was blinking confusedly again. “Can I see your hand?”

“Oh, my _hand_ ,” Adrian sighed, shaking his head. Then he murmured to himself, “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“Well, can I?”

Adrian’s thick eyebrows knitted together worriedly as he balled his right hand into a fist. “I don’t think so,” he said.

Interesting. So, he _was_ hiding something.

Had goddamn _Arwin_ seen what was underneath? Jongin had half the mind to ask Adrian. But then he realized he had no right to be mad.

“You look tired,” Adrian said, clearly diverting the attention. Jongin let him.

“Yeah. I haven’t been… sleeping well at night.”

Adrian frowned. “What’s wrong? Are you not comfortable?”

“It isn’t what I’m used to but… no. It’s the nightmares.”

“You have them often?”

“Lately, yeah.” Jongin pursed his lips. He did not want to say more. He did not want to tell the man that he was dreaming of tree spirits, a dying forest, and an Oath to drown the man. It was all just a dream, though.

Wasn’t it?

“Do you, perhaps, miss your… home?” Adrian asked. “And the security of it?”

Jongin licked his lips. “I do miss my mother and sister and dog. But… I don’t think that’s the issue. I also… don’t think I could live here forever.”

“Vincent would fire Olivar sooner than you think.”

“I wouldn’t make a good Counsel.”

“Did you see what you’ve done all this week?” Adrian was beaming as he said it. “You are the most intelligent person I’ve ever met and you’re only… How old are you?”

“Twenty-one,” Jongin muttered. “I’m turning twenty-two in a couple of more months.”

Adrian cleared his throat. “You’re… younger than I thought.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “My point is, you are brilliant. And you’d make a great Counsel to Vincent. He appreciates you.”

That warmed Jongin’s chest. “He really does?”

“He didn’t think you could do much in the beginning but yes, he does appreciate you now. You bring a fresher perspective to everything.”

“Thank you,” Jongin said sincerely. “That means… a lot to me.”

For the first time in his life, Jongin felt like he had achieved something great. Something meaningful. Something his father should have been proud of.

“Jongin,” Adrian said after a moment, eyes lowered. “I was really… glad when you… didn’t… go with your father.”

Jongin’s hands turned clammy. He felt his heart skip a beat. “Were you…” He dropped his head. “I should… go. Master Olivar will be wondering where I ran off to.”

“Of course. I’ll, um, see you around.”

Nodding his head shakily, Jongin hurried out of the arena.

* * *

The Jarl wanted to go hunting again the next day. Jongin was invited to join him and the Overseer on the hunt because the Jarl apparently enjoyed Jongin’s company. He said that he was relieved to finally have someone who understood him to talk to. Adrian was expressionless when the blonde man had said that.

Jongin was grateful for the hunt. It could not have come on a better day. The longhouse was thronging with loud servants, who were preparing for the ball in a few days. The discordance was deafening Jongin.

This was the furthest Jongin had ever been in the forest.

But somehow, this part of the forest felt more familiar than anything. He heard a song in his heart, in his spirit.

Tigo leaped around Jongin, his paws springing with excitement. Baashere was striding quietly alongside Adrian. Tigo liked Jongin, he thought. The growing cub was always thrilled to see Jongin. And he loved Jongin’s scratches. Especially the ones under his chin. Duke used to love that, too.

Jongin caught Adrian staring at him every now and then as they strode through the forest.

“What?” he eventually asked the man, and Adrian turned his face away, embarrassed.

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “It’s just that… you look like you’re glowing in here.”

Jongin raised his hands to his cheeks, hugging the Jarl’s satchels he was carrying. The Jarl had insisted that he didn’t have to, but Jongin had nothing else to do. He didn’t how to hunt.

“I recently discovered that I love the forest,” Jongin admitted. “And trees. And the wind.”

Adrian looked at him like he was _in love_. It unnerved Jongin greatly because he knew he was starting to look at Adrian the same way.

“If you two are done romancing back there, I’d like get across the river!” the Jarl called out ahead. Jongin stopped in his tracks and so did Adrian. They exchanged a perplexed glance.

“I didn’t…” Adrian began to say to Jongin. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.” He then hurried after the Jarl, leaving Jongin behind.

Jongin looked down at Tigo, who was biting and hanging onto his tunic’s sleeve. He skipped away after Baashere after Jongin rubbed his head.

Adrian and the Jarl were heading towards the river. The beat of the stream gently thrummed in Jongin’s veins. It was as though he had known the river all his life.

His eyes slowly shifted to the tree stump. A sharp pain stung his heart then as he stared at the cut-down tree. Across it was a tree, branches barren, bark bereft of life and colour. It was the only tree in the copse that was wilting, withering sadly.

It took Jongin a moment to realize that a tear had betrayed his eye as he walked over to the tree. Lifting a hand to it, Jongin felt the spiritless wood.

_The Oath…_

_I couldn’t…_

_I’m sorry._

“Jongin?”

He jumped with a start and turned around to look at those two pools of deep blue eyes. “You felled that tree,” Jongin gasped and he had no idea where it came from.

Cocking an eyebrow, Adrian glanced back at the tree stump. “What?”

Jongin could not breathe for a moment. “You did that. You cut it down.”

Adrian glanced at the tree laying above the river. “I think… I did. I don’t remember.”

Jongin’s blood boiled. “Why would you do that?”

“What are you talking about?”

“These trees are lives.”

Adrian scowled now. “So are the pigs and chickens you eat every day.”

Jongin fell silent at that.

“You really care about trees that much?” Adrian asked. “I… I was only following orders.”

Jongin looked at the Jarl who was crossing the river, taking cautious steps on the felled tree. “But you… you were the one who did it.”

Adrian had never killed for himself. He never had.

“It’s a just a tree, Jongin.” The man held a hand out, as though to take hold of Jongin’s hand.

Jongin backed away, gritting his teeth. “It’s a life. A spirit.” Spitting that out, he stomped away from the river, away from the Jarl, away from Adrian.

* * *

He was at sea, dumbfounded as he trailed behind Vincent after the boy had stormed off. Because of a… tree.

“What happened? Why do you have that nonplussed expression on your face?” Vincent asked, nocking an arrow on his bow.

Adrian sighed. “I don’t know. The boy… He seems mad at me for cutting a tree down.”

Vincent laughed. “Sounds like what my father used to do. He had forbidden cutting trees down, you know? He believed there were spirits living in those trees. A mad man.”

Shaking his head, Adrian leaned against a tree and let Baashere sniff his hurting, numb hand. “I had never seen him so… resentful. He’s always been mean to me but… but he had never looked this serious.”

“Hmm. So, when were you going to tell me that you’re screwing that kid?”

Adrian almost choked on his spit. “Vincent!”

“You are, aren’t you? And here I thought, you had gone celibate.”

Adrian’s face burned. “I’m not… screwing him.”

“Well, you better start to. I’m basically playing pimp here because I care about your dick, buddy. The whole reason I asked him to tag along is so that you can spend some time with him instead of sniffing up my ass all the damn time.”

Adrian wanted the man to shut up. “It’s nothing like that!”

“Uh-huh. I see the way you look at each other, Adrian. Only a fool won’t notice you undressing the boy with your baby blue eyes.”

“Oh, my God. Vincent, please stop talking.”

“And you’re blushing. Could this day get any better! Does he know? That you love him? Oh! He’s the _woman_ you’re in love but is way out of your league, isn’t it?! How did I not see that before?! You had nothing to worry about because the boy seems like he likes you, Adrian. I will help you two in any way I can. Well, for now, I want you to get laid, my friend.”

“I’m dying.”

For a moment, only the air stirred between them. Only the wind whispered around them.

“What… did you say?” Vincent exhaled after a stretch.

Adrian sucked in a breath and rubbed his temples. “I have a… disease. I’ve had one for a couple of years now. The healers in Greenmire said that there’s no cure for the disease and but it isn’t unheard of. My limbs will slowly get weak until I could no longer move them and… my heart grows weak, too. I can feel it, Vince. I’m not going to last very long.”

Vincent’s eyes turned red. “You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were. I want you to have a supportive council before… before…” he trailed off. “I wanted to be by your side, Vincent. But I… I’m sorry. The only reason I came back to Dawndale was for you. But then I met… I met the boy and… I realized I… I want to live.” He swallowed a lump scratching at his throat. “I want to live. With him. For him. And it sucks.” He closed his eyes momentarily. “I can’t be with him. And I can’t believe I forgot myself for a moment there. You’re right. The boy… He’s… I can’t have him… want me. I don’t want to hurt him.”

Vincent looked away, jaw squared, eyes watery. “You’re dying. You’re dying and you’re just telling me now?!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Adrian, what the fuck?!” He threw his hands onto his face and groaned. “I will have all the healers in Dawndale scour for a cure.”

Adrian pulled away from the tree and grabbed hold of Vincent’s hands. “I’ve scoured enough, Vincent. I… I’ve given up. There’s nothing you could do for me.”

“No! I’m a Jarl! I could do anything!”

Adrian smiled at that and pulled his friend into an embrace. “Not save the dying, I’m afraid.”

Vincent did not let him go. They stayed like that for a while. When they finally drew away, Vincent asked, “Does Jongin know?”

“No, and he shouldn’t.”

“Shouldn’t he?” Vincent said. “Adrian, he’s falling for you. You can’t be that oblivious. If you don’t want to hurt him, tell him. Don’t give him false hopes. The boy has already lost a lot.”

It struck Adrian then. What he had been doing all this time. He had forgotten that he was dying for the past couple of weeks. He had been happy. He was happy seeing Jongin happy. And the closer they got, the more hurt Jongin was going to be in the end.

“How… How long do you have?” Vincent then asked.

Adrian smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s soon. But not that soon.”

 

 

##  e n t r’a c t e

 

 

Without an entity that _needed_ the essence of my _life_ , my spirit, I was dying. Fading. Without a purpose.

It didn’t hurt so bad.

 

 

#  T H I R T E E N

 

 

He had been to many dances and balls before. And most of the time, they were fancier than one the Jarl was throwing tomorrow. He was still excited, though. It would be the first time he’d show up to a ball dressed in nothing but a poor man’s tunic and trousers. But he would be standing next to the Jarl as one of his men. That made Jongin someone significant.

He hadn’t seen Adrian since they had come back from the hunt.

Adrian had not tried to look for him.

The night before the ball, the longhouse did not sleep. The servants were still bustling, Olivar was making a fuss out of everything, the Housecarls were already in their assigned posts.

“A drink, Jongin?” Alecc offered when Jongin wandered outside for a breath of the night air. The half-brothers were usually off their duties in the evening, replaced by a couple of other Housecarls. But Sin and Alecc were still hanging around tonight.

“No, thank you,” Jongin said. He did not really like the taste of alcohol. Tea tasted better. But he was dead tired of teas, too. He had had enough of those to last a lifetime.

“Oh, look. The little one’s after you again,” Sin said, pointing over Jongin’s shoulder. Jongin turned around to find Tigo following him. That was what he did sometimes. He followed Jongin around the same way he followed Baashere around. But sometimes, Baashere seemed too tired to entertain him.

Jongin picked up the cub into his arms and cradled him. Tigo liked that.

“I should head back inside,” he told the half-brothers.

“Good night. See you at the ball tomorrow, Counsel Jongin,” Sin said, smirking.

Jongin liked the sound of that. _Counsel Jongin._

He went back to the Counsel’s study and found Olivar pacing the room restlessly.

“We’ve never had so many important people in one place. And I’m surprised everyone accepted the young Jarl’s invitation. One wrong move, and Vincent will be digging his grave!”

Jongin released Tigo to the ground and the cub skipped away. “You shouldn’t be so worried, Master Olivar,” he said.

“I should! And _you_ should, too! If you are to be his Counsel soon.” The old man scratched his forehead. “And you cannot wear _that_ to the ball tomorrow. The Jarl will be introducing you to boast.”

Jongin gaped at the old man. “What?”

 _To boast?_ No one had ever done that before.

“You are like his secret weapon. Your solutions and advices have bought him respect in the town and among the people!”

“That… can’t be true.”

“Once he starts seeing results from your counsels, I will be history!” He then stopped to face Jongin with a smile. “And perhaps that might be a good thing for Dawndale. It is about time the old ways were turned around.” He sighed and sank in his seat behind the desk. “Wear something nice.”

Jongin bowed his head and bade the man good night before sauntering into his rathole of a room. Rummaging through the small pile of clothes in the corner, he pulled out a shirt. The one he had worn the night he had left home. It was decent, but it wasn’t fancy.

His eyes then fell on the oversized shirt he had forgotten to return to the Overseer. Something pained his chest. He picked it up and buried his nose in it, inhaling the faint scents clinging to it.

Then he rubbed the shirt all over his face. He didn’t want to give it back.

But he needed an excuse to go over to Adrian’s room tonight.

With a tiny apprehension set deep in his belly, Jongin rose to his feet and wended his way to the Overseer’s quarters.

His heart was doing their little jumps, as always, as he edged closer to Adrian’s chambers. He might owe the man an apology for the way he had snapped at him the other day.

Over a tree.

Jongin hadn’t known what had overcome him that moment. But now that he no longer resented Adrian, he wanted to see him. He missed the days Adrian was the one clinging to the garden fences, making eyes at Jongin.

Reaching the grey door, Jongin drew a trembling breath before raising a fist to knock on the door. But it swung open on its own.

A chambermaid looked at him with big, brown eyes and blushed. “Oh,” she said and bowed her head before she hurried away.

Jongin stood still, blinking blankly. When he peered into the room, he found Adrian perched on an edge of his bed, slouching, and quaffing alcohol straight from the bottle. He looked like shit and it wasn’t like him to drink on the night of a very important occasion where he needed to stay sharp and alert.

His dishevelled appearance concerned Jongin. He stepped inside.

Although Adrian was aware of Jongin’s presence, he did not do anything to acknowledge it. He kept his head hung, shoulders slumped, and eyes focused on the bottle in his hand.

That was the first time Jongin felt his heart break a little.

Perhaps he deserved that.

“I’m sorry about… what I said,” he said in a mumble.

Adrian did not look up.

“Who… was that?” he asked, even though he knew he didn’t really have the right to question such things. “Why was there… a chambermaid here at this hour?”

He felt _embarrassed_ just to ask these. But he couldn’t help himself. As much as he wanted to yell at the bastard, he found himself fighting back a sob that was about to break out at any moment.

“I thought,” he whispered, eyes slowly blurring with tears. “you… you wanted… me.”

Adrian’s head shot up. He _glared_ at Jongin.

His heart broke for the second time.

And a third when Adrian said, “Get out.”

Jongin did not move. He couldn’t. He gripped the shirt in his hand. “You… sleep with other… people?”

_With Rolland? With chambermaids? With Arwin?_

Adrian stood up then, towering tall before Jongin. “Why the _fuck_ do you care, huh?”

He was shouting at Jongin. He looked furious.

And Jongin was about to cry.

But no. He would stay strong. He did not want to show this man that he was vulnerable. No. Never.

“I said leave,” Adrian spat with his clenched jaw before swigging the alcohol again.

“So, you don’t,” Jongin began again, his voice breaking. Like his heart. “love… me?”

Adrian stopped. Stared. Looked hurt. But only for a second. Then he scowled. “Get out, kid. You’ve no business fraternizing with a _filthy bastard_ like me.”

“Adrian—” Jongin started to gasp as he took a step toward the man, eyes welled up with tears that were threatening to fall.

“Leave,” Adrian said then. He did not sound angry. He sounded miserable. “ _Please_.”

He turned his face away before Jongin could look into those cold, bleary eyes. Wiping his nose on the back of his hand, he sniffled and drank some more.

“Okay,” muttered Jongin as he started for the door. He couldn’t do it. He turned back to Adrian and closed the distance between them. “Look me in the eye and tell me to go away.”

Adrian refused. He was gripped the bottle so hard that he might have crushed it. “Don’t do this,” he breathed out and it sounded like a plea.

Everything he said to Jongin sounded like a plea. How did a man so considerate kill two hundred mercenaries in a battle? How could those hands that took so many lives be evermore gentle when they touched Jongin?

And God, Jongin wanted them to touch him once more. Maybe even ravage him.

“ _You_ can’t do this,” Jongin said. A blink caused his tears to fall. “ _You_ can’t do this to me. Not after you were the one who came after me. You were the one who brought me into all this. It was you. _Your_ fault. You don’t get to tell me to leave. It’s not… fair.”

Then Adrian smashed the bottle against the wall. Jongin shuddered. “I need you to get away from me right now, Jongin,” he growled, his reddened eyes flaring with intensity Jongin had never seen before. “Or I will—”

“Do it,” Jongin challenged him without even knowing what the man was about to say. He did not care. Whatever that Adrian wanted to do to him, he wanted it, too. He even took another step closer to the man. Their chests were almost touching now. He could smell the ale from Adrian’s breath.

Adrian’s chest was heaving hard. His breathing laboured and shallow. His body radiated a fierce heat that swooned Jongin a little.

Jongin decided to give him another nudge. He leaned in and pressed his face against Adrian’s chest. “I hate you,” he breathed against the soldier’s beating heart, taking in the unusual mix of scents. Musk, sandalwood, and ale. Sweet. But harsh.

One moment, Adrian was holding his fists, barely breathing. And then next, his powerful hands were gripped Jongin’s waist as they slammed Jongin back against a wall. He growled like an animal and the sound rumbled in his massive chest.

Like a prey snared in the clasps of its predator, Jongin stayed still. The hands on the sides of his waist was brutally strong. It was going to leave a nasty bruise and Jongin knew he’d wear it with pride.

Adrian hadn’t shaved in a while. And he looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes, hair unkempt, shirt creased and hardly laced. And he still managed to look wonderful.

Jongin’s gaze dropped from Adrian’s glistening, tired eyes to his parted, panting lips. They were close to Jongin’s but not close enough. And painfully so. He was nervous about what might happen next, but he wasn’t going to stop it.

Tilting his head, Adrian leaned into the crook of Jongin’s neck. It took Jongin by surprise and he almost whimpered as Adrian’s beard grazed the sensitive skin there. Adrian breathed hard against it, lips brushing upon the heat. And then he inhaled sharply. If only Jongin weren’t too horrified to move, he would have grabbed Adrian by the hair.

And then he felt Adrian’s large hands slide around his waist before they settled on the small of his back, pulling Jongin’s body close to his own.

 _Love… Safe… Adrian._ _Safe. Trust. Love._

It was no longer _murderer, drown, soldier._

It was _love, safe, Adrian._

He was there, breathing Jongin in. Then he was gone. Taking several steps back. “No, I can’t,” he said, tears sheening in his blue eyes. “I shouldn’t do this to you.”

“Why not?” Jongin panted. “I… Do you not… like me anymore?”

“It’s not that,” Adrian said it like he was choking on a sob. He closed his eyes for a beat. Then he started to unlace his shirt. Jongin could not move away from the wall.

He watched with a dry mouth while Adrian removed the shirt and let it fall to the ground.

The world seemed to have stopped for a moment as Jongin’s eyes skidded over the man’s shirtless, powerfully built body. The veins were darker than before, spreading across his chest and right shoulder, climbing all the way down to his right hand. It looked painful.

 _Was_ he in pain? What was this even?

He unwrapped the leather around his hand and dropped it on the floor along with the shirt. The veins reached all the way to the palm of his hand.

“You’ve always been right,” said Adrian, voice thick with grief. “I do not deserve you and I never will. I only wanted to love you from very far away. I wanted to see you be happy. I never meant to get closer. Not this close. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I shouldn’t have touched you. I shouldn’t have brought you flowers. I didn’t want our fates to cross the way they did. Believe me. I _never_ wanted you to love me back. To… love a dying man back.”

Jongin’s head spun while the world stood frozen. What was he hearing? Nothing Adrian said registered in his mind. He suddenly felt sick and wanted to throw up. He still held Adrian’s shirt in his hand. And it smelled of musk and sandalwood. Not like the trees and the dirt in the forest. Jongin could live without the latter, he realized. But not without the former. Not anymore.

“You’re lying,” Jongin breathed out, cheeks streaked with tears.

Adrian shook his head. “I’m an uneducated simpleton. I don’t know how to lie.”

He was right. Men like him didn’t lie. But it wasn’t because he was an illiterate. Because he was him.

“You… You’re not… dying,” Jongin managed to get out when he found his voice again. “You can’t…”

“Jongin,” Adrian said, stepping forward. But he stopped. “I’m not right for you.” And it pained him to say that. It pained Jongin even more. “I’m sorry I had let it get this far but I want you happy and safe.”

He picked up his shirt and the leather. Then without another word, he stormed out of the chamber.

Jongin’s knees finally gave in and buckled. He dropped to the floor. He did not cry, he did not scream. He silently sat there for hours as the night wore on.

He realized that he had wasted so much time.

* * *

“How do I look?” Vincent asked when he walked out of his chambers. His black overcoat with green embroideries matched his eyes and complemented his fair hair. He wore a pendant that went with the circlet around his head.

“You look good,” Adrian said.

Vincent breathed out a heavy sigh. “You look good, too.” He brushed a lint off Adrian’s shoulder. “You could have shaved, though.”

Looking presentable was the last of Adrian’s concerns right now. He had been sleepless last night. And this evening did not seem like it was coming to an end anytime soon.

Vincent caught Adrian’s arm on their way to the great hall where the music was coming from. Carriages and horses crowded the area around the longhouse.

The cacophony was deafening. The guests were swarming the longhouse. Adrian recognized a few of the Jarls who had shown up tonight. He had seen them when they visited Greenmire once or twice.

“Are you all right?” Vincent asked.

Adrian scowled. “I’m not that sick, Vince. Stop looking at me like I’m about to die any minute now.”

Vincent let go of his arm. “That’s not what I meant… Even though I would be very happy if you agreed to see some healers. But no. You look… upset. And deprived of sleep.”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“If I don’t, who will? Adrian, is it about the kid?”

“I told him,” Adrian sighed. “I told him. And I told him to stay away.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “How did he take it?”

“Not… well. Which made me feel… relieved, for some odd reason.”

Vincent smiled then. “Because you want him to feel something for you, don’t you?”

Adrian supposed he did.

“He loves you, too,” said Vincent and it felt so good to hear that. Adrian only wished it was true.

“Vince, I need you to keep him safe,” Adrian told him. It was a request. “Look out for him.”

“I’ll try,” Vincent replied. “But he is his own person. He can decide for himself what he wants.”

“Yes, but for my sake, help him out.”

“I will, Adrian. And stop talking like this. You’re not going anywhere. After this ball, I’m going to find help for _you_ first.”

Adrian rolled his eyes. “For now, let’s focus on tonight.”

They meandered their way to the great hall. The lutes and drums were loud and lively. Adrian had never seen so many people in the longhouse. And each and every of them looked like they had been dipped in gold and rubies.

The entire place smelled of roasted pork, rich sweet custard pies, baked trout, and perfume. So much perfume.

“Announcing the arrival Lord Vincent Brantley, the Jarl of Dawndale and the Overseer, Adrian Vanstone!” the Steward heralded.

All heads turned to them. Adrian fell a few steps behind Vincent as the noblemen and women thronged around him immediately.

They weren’t all just Jarls and their families. There were also other influential people like merchants, traders, barons and baronesses and other members of aristocracy, anyone whose alliance would be beneficial. Vincent had indeed been very prudent about the people he invited to the ball.

“You are far more handsome than I imagined,” said a noblewoman. Vincent bowed his head, gave her a nice smile. “This is my daughter.” She introduced the young woman standing next to her.

A baron introduced himself and his two daughters next. He was also bold enough to tell Vincent that it was about time the Jarl had found a wife.

Many came forth with their daughters. Vincent showed interest in a few of them. And in a few of the sons.

“Smile,” Adrian muttered to him from behind before he escorted Vincent to the table where the Jarls awaited him.

Taking his position near his Jarl, Adrian scanned the hall. The women were all dressed in extravagant gowns. The men in ornate suits and coats. It was then when he realized most of them were rubbernecking right at him.

They whispered into each other’s ears, keeping their gawking eyes on him.

“That’s him,” Adrian overheard a woman saying to her husband. “Adrian Vanstone.”

“He’s the Overseer of Dawndale now?” her husband said.

Adrian tried to ignore them. His eyes searched for the one he desperately wanted to see. And when they found it, Adrian felt a tightening in his chest.

Jongin stood quietly in a corner, looking sad and pale, as he watched the people around him. He was probably more used to this kind of crowd than Adrian was. Except that the boy now looked like he did not even belong to a crowd like this.

“I hear that you’ve decided to implement a few new policies,” said the Jarl of Edengale to Vincent. “They sound interesting.”

“They were the idea of my Counsel’s apprentice,” Vincent said. “A brilliant boy, I must say.”

“Hmm.”

Adrian looked at Counsel Olivar, who took a sip from his winecup, before turning his gaze back to Jongin. The boy had disappeared.

After dinner, the dancing began. Adrian’s worst nightmare.

“My Lord.” A man approached Vincent. “It would be an honour to my daughter and I if you would lead her in a dance.”

Vincent smiled and nodded. “Of course.” He held a hand out to the beautiful, petite young woman. She took it, blushing softly. “It’d be _my_ honour to have a dance with you, My Lady.”

Unlike Adrian, Vincent was a fluid dancer. While he was busy holding the girl’s svelte waist, Adrian went to talk to some of the Housecarls.

He found Sin near the entrance. The olive-skinned man was peering at Vincent. “Sin,” Adrian called, grabbing the Housecarl’s attention.

“Yes, My Lord.”

Adrian glanced back at Vincent. “Do you like him?”

Sin coughed and blinked rapidly. “Well… I…”

“It’s okay if you do. It’s hard not to like him.”

Sin smiled. “I like him. And I know Alecc does, too.”

“Is that a problem?”

Sin shrugged. “I don’t think so. I don’t mind sharing and it’s Alecc. We share everything.”

A croaky laughter escaped Adrian’s throat. “I think you might have taken it too far. But he is the Jarl. By the end of the day, he’s going to have to marry a pretty girl like that.”

“I know,” the man sighed. “I’m not getting my hopes up.”

“Check the perimeter,” Adrian then ordered before his eyes darted to a certain plush-lipped boy in the crowd. Jongin was holding a conversation with an old nobleman, who seemed pleased with his company. Too pleased.

Adrian knew that kind of noblemen and the disgusting look in their eyes all too well.

“Get on it,” he said to Sin and started toward Jongin.

The nobleman lifted a hand to the boy’s arm. But before he could touch it, Adrian caught the old man’s wrist and gave it a firm grip.

“You’re going to keep that hand to yourself if you don’t want me to rip it off your body,” Adrian growled through his teeth and released the wrist.

The nobleman stepped away at once. Inhaling a deep breath, Adrian turned to face the boy.

Jongin was frowning at him, eyes and cheeks swollen from crying.

“Jong—” Adrian began but was cut off.

“I hate you,” Jongin spat and spun around. Adrian deserved that. But he didn’t really know why.

He caught Jongin’s hand to stop him from walking away. He should have let the boy walk away. Wasn’t that what he wanted last night when he had forced Jongin to stay away?

The boy turned, looking down at his hand that was in Adrian’s leathered one. Then his eyes rose to meet Adrian’s. Gazes locked, Adrian gently tightened his hand around the boy’s delicate fingers, not wanting to ever let go.

“Excuse me,” a woman interrupted them. Jongin withdrew his hand from Adrian’s grasp and faced the noblewoman. She smiled at him. “You seem familiar. Do I know you?”

The boy took a moment to answer. “I’m not sure,” he said at length.

“Does your father own the Keejhon Teas?”

Jongin winced, flushed. “Yes.”

“Ah! I knew I’ve seen you somewhere.” She then paused to muster Jongin from head to bottom. “What… are you doing here?”

“I work for the Jarl,” Jongin said. “Counsel-In-Training.” That was the official title for the apprenticeship, but it did sound fancy.

“Oh, my. That is huge,” the woman said. “I did not peg Keejhon’s family to be the one into politics.”

“Apparently, we’re into it more than people would think,” the boy said with a dash of sarcasm and an eyeroll.

“Well, do you want to dance?” the woman asked. And it came out of nowhere. Jongin was as flustered as Adrian was as he tried to come up with an answer.

“I’m sorry. I’m little too strung out for dancing right now,” the boy said.

“No worries. You’ve grown into a nice young man,” she said and patted Jongin’s cheek twice before wending her way away. Jongin finally huffed out a breath.

“Do you want to dance?” Adrian blabbed before he had a chance to think about it. Jongin stopped, then turned. “With… W-With me?”

The boy just stared.

Adrian scratched his nape. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I just… You… Uh… I thought…” He gave up and sighed.

“I would—” Jongin started to say but then his eyes shot past Adrian’s shoulder. All blood drained from the boy’s face. Adrian followed Jongin’s frightened gaze.

Adrian swore under his breath, glowering at Jongin’s father, who walked into the longhouse with his wife and another woman at his sides. The woman, whom Adrian did not recognize, wore a gown in the shade of wine with her long black hair braided and resting against her left breast. She even sported a mink pelt on her shoulders. She looked almost as old as Adrian himself.

 “Who is she?” Adrian muttered.

Jongin did not answer immediately, but he had a strange guilty frown on his brows as he glanced over to Adrian. “My… fiancée.”

 

 

#  F O U R T E E N

 

 

Adrian appeared to be confused at first. And then he looked hurt.

Jongin wanted to flee the place. But he was too petrified to even move.

His father spotted him in the crowd. A wicked smile stretched the man’s lips and he started towards Jongin.

“Jongin,” his mother rasped and rushed to him, pulling him into her arms. “Oh, darling. I’ve missed you so much.”

Jongin embraced her back, his eyes stinging. “Mother… I’ve missed you, too.”

She withdrew and cupped his cheek. “God, look at you. You… You have to come back home, Jongin. Please. Just come home.”

Jongin glimpsed at Adrian and then gazed ahead at his father and his fiancée. The woman looked more intimidating than the she had looked the last time he had seen her. It was when he was getting engaged to her.

“Look who’s here,” his mother said, smiling. “Elena. She’s come to see you. She received an invitation for the ball from the Jarl.”

Jongin could not make himself speak. He gaped speechlessly at the black-haired woman and her big breasts. God, he wanted to run away again. She grinned at him. Her lips were painted red. Her cheeks were dusted with gold and rose powder. She had jewellery glimmering on her like the stars. It was all just _too much._

“Hello, Jongin,” she said, her glistening red lips stretched wide. “I’ve heard about your little… stunt for attention.”

She sounded like one of Jongin’s governesses when he was a child. Terrifying.

“So, this is what you’ve been reduced to,” his father then commented. “I hope you’ve come to appreciate everything I’ve striven to provide for you.”

Jongin almost blurted out about the fact that the man was a murderer. But then the Jarl would also have Jongin’s head for being his father’s accomplice in a way. And he was not sure he wanted to see the executioner’s axe on his father’s neck.

“I don’t,” Jongin spat. “I’m not coming home.”

Elena scowled.

“Hmm,” his father hummed. “Can we find a more private space for us to discuss something important, son?”

“You’re not going anywhere with him,” Adrian grunted. Jongin had forgotten that the Overseer was still there.

“Jongin,” his father called. “I suggest you come with me. Or you know what I’ll do.”

Jongin gulped, still afraid of his father like he had always been. He touched Adrian’s hand that was gripping his sword. “It’s okay,” he said.

Adrian frowned.

“This way,” Jongin told his father, and they headed outside. Behind them, Elena was introducing herself to Adrian.

“You look like a servant,” the man commented.

Jongin faced him. “What do you want, Father?”

“You are coming home,” he ordered. “Elena’s visiting. It is rude to do this to her.”

“I’m not marrying her anymore, Father,” Jongin said.

The man’s eyebrows rose. “What?”

“I’m not marrying that rich old hag! I’m in love with someone.”

_Love. Safe. Adrian._

His father blinked. “You’re… what?”

“I’m in love with… Adrian,” Jongin admitted and it felt so good. It felt so good to see that disapproving look on his father’s face now. “And I want to be with him.

_For however long I can._

His father remained mumchance for a long moment as he folded his arms across his chest. Then he slowly nodded his head. “I see.” Unfurling his arms, he grabbed Jongin’s shirt by its front and snarled at him. “You will listen to me carefully. I’m about to give you an ultimatum. If you want to live, if you want your precious little boyfriend to live, you will come back home and marry Elena as promised.”

Jongin’s blood ran cold. “You… Are you going to do something to the Jarl? Is that why you’re here? Is that why you’re telling me to come home? You’re… You’re not going to… hurt him, are you?”

His father’s eyes narrowed, but he did not reply.

Jongin felt his windpipe tighten and his guts knot. “Please, Father. Don’t.”

“Then come home,” he said. “Come home and I’ll stop.”

Jongin wasn’t sure if he could even believe the man. “You’ll… You’ll stop trying to hurt the Jarl?”

“If that’s what you want. But you must marry Elena. And you will leave your job at the longhouse. You will marry her and go live with her in the next town.”

_And leave Adrian._

It crushed him. Eyes closed, he agreed with a nod of his head. “All right,” he let out grievingly. “All right, Father. I’ll come home, and I’ll marry Elena.”

When he opened his eyes, he found his father smirking. “Good boy. Now, let us go enjoy the party.” He hooked an arm around Jongin’s back and ushered him back inside.

Adrian, who was standing next to the Treasurer, hurried to Jongin as soon as he saw them walking in. “Jongin,” he gasped.

Then his mother and Elena joined them.

“I told you he’d listen to reason,” said his father. “He’s agreed to come home and go on with the wedding.”

“Oh,” his mother chimed. “You have no idea how happy that makes me, Jongin.” As she hugged him, Jongin kept his eyes on Adrian, whose face wilted. Then without another word, the Overseer turned around and strode away.

“You’ve made the right decision, darling,” Elena said with a predatory smirk. “That servant tunic does _not_ suit you.”

“Jongin,” his father called. “Why don’t you ask for Elena’s hand for a dance?”

Jongin wanted nothing more than to run after Adrian that moment. But he held a hand out to his fiancée instead. Elena seemed delighted to accept it.

“The Overseer is a charming man. You’re friends with him?” the woman asked as Jongin led her into an easy waltz. She drew his one hand to her waist and the other into her own hand. Jongin gulped with difficulty.

“No,” he said. “We’re not friends.”

“That’s a relief. I do not imagine a fine, refined young man like you fraternizing with boorish brutes like that soldier.”

Jongin’s eyes still searched the crowd for Adrian.

* * *

When the celebration finally came to end a few hours into midnight and the guests had started to leave, Jongin promised his parents that he’d be home later. He still had to inform the Jarl and the blonde man was no in shape to hear him out right now as he was completely soused in the arms of an enchanting woman. So, that would have to wait for another day.

He had not seen Adrian. Something gnawed at his insides and pained him. He had to say goodbye.

And perhaps, it would be forever.

He tried not to let the sob clawing its way up in his throat bother him as he went looking for Adrian later that night. But before that, he bathed and changed into one of his cleaner tunics and packed what little things he owned, along with Adrian’s shirt which he had failed to return the previous night. He’d tell Master Olivar tomorrow.

He was still in disbelief about having said it out loud. That he loved Adrian. It was the truest thing he’d ever said.

He just did not know if he could say it to Adrian. He should not. It would not be fair to either of them.

After all, Adrian wanted to push him away now.

Because he was dying.

Jongin paused to let the thick lump in his throat slide back down.

He was dying.

From a horrid disease.

And the man acted like it was nothing most of the time. It was as though he did not even care if he died. Well, who was there to grief for him when he was gone, right? There was the Jarl and his pet tigers. But he didn’t have a family. He had no other friends. He was a lone wolf.

Jongin felt his eyes sting again. He thought he had already exhausted his supply of tears. But apparently not. He did not think he would get through this goodbye without crying.

On his way to the Overseer’s quarters, Jongin stopped near a vase of flowers of vibrant hues. His tongue tasted like sand as he plucked a stalk of flower from the vase and sniffed it. It smelled decent enough.

He proceeded to Adrian’s rooms.

When the grey door was not opened after he had knocked on it, he pushed it open. It was unlocked.

Inside, only the faint light of an oil lamp brightened a corner of the room. The tigers were absent.

And there Adrian stood, facing the window with his back turned to Jongin.

Closing the door behind him, he advanced toward Adrian, treading light and hesitant. He noticed Adrian’s sharp shoulder blades shift as the man gripped the windowsill harder, leaning over it.

“I’m… leaving,” Jongin muttered, halting with a few feet separating them. “Just like you asked me to.”

Adrian kept silent.

Jongin sniffed and wiped an eye before the tear could fall. “I hate you,” he said again. Adrian’s shoulders squared. “I hate you so much. Because like my father, you don’t let _me_ decide. You didn’t even give me a choice.” His chest ached as he spoke. But he needed to get it out. “You decided _for_ me. And you decided that I’m better off not loving a dying man. Perhaps you’re right. But you never asked what _I_ wanted.”

Adrian broke his silence then. But he did not turn around. “I do not need your pity party. You’ve decided now, haven’t you? You came to say goodbye.”

Jongin’s entire body quaked with an alien emotion. It was grief, sorrow, regret, longing, devastation, disappointment, anger, resentment, confusion, all at once. He never should have come here. He should have left without a goodbye. Because right now, he did not know how to overcome this misery.

“You’re pushing me away,” he said in a cracking whisper. He lowered his eyelids and let shed teardrops. “You’re pushing me away when I finally want you.”

Adrian finally turned with bleary eyes that mirrored Jongin’s own suffering. “Why?” he let out. “Why suddenly? I’m still a servant’s bastard son. I’m still a dirty soldier. I’m nothing more, Jongin. I’m not fit for you. I’ve always known that. And I’ve always wanted the best for you.” He sniffled and blinked the tears in his eyes away from speaking again. “Go. I want you to leave. I want you to marry someone like Elena. Rich, sophisticated, educated, worldly. She’s the right match for you.”

“I don’t love _her_.” Jongin almost suffocated trying to get that out. Adrian did not respond. He just… stared. “You are ruining me,” Jongin went on with the accusations. “You chased after me and now you’re telling me to go away. It isn’t fair.”

“Jongin, I’m _dying_ ,” Adrian growled then. “What more can you expect from me?!”

“So, you want me to go away because you’re worried I’ll be miserable when you die?” Jongin cried. “I’m going to be miserable either way! You think I will have my heart broken? It’s already breaking, Adrian. And this is all _your_ fault. And don’t tell me you were never counting on me falling for you and that’s why you didn’t back away sooner.”

Adrian closed his eyes, his breathing ragged and laboured.

Jongin looked down at the stalk of flower in his hand and crossed the room. “I wish I hadn’t crushed all those flowers,” he exhaled. Adrian opened his eyes to glance at the white, four-petaled flower Jongin was holding out. Then he raised his gaze to level with Jongin’s.

The moment belonged to them. And so did the night.

The flower slipped from Jongin’s fingers and crashed the floor. Strong hands came around his waist first before they slid down to grip his ass. Adrian’s lips covered Jongin’s, their bodies colliding into each other. He simply forgot how to breathe as he savoured every stroke of Adrian’s lips, every brush of his tongue, every graze of his teeth. His hands flew up to Adrian’s head, fingers entangling themselves in his shortly cropped hair.

He couldn’t breathe, he felt like he was drowning, not that he minded it one bit. He just did not want it to stop.

Throwing his arms around Adrian’s shoulders, he clung onto the burly, strapping man’s neck as Adrian devoured his lips. A soft moan escaped them when the soldier caught the bottom lip between his teeth and gave it a gentle tug before sucking it hard. Jongin did not know he could even make such noises. But he did again when Adrian slammed him against a wall and hoisted him up, firm hands under Jongin’s thighs.

The kiss burned, everywhere Adrian’s beard touched burned. The heat of Adrian’s powerful body _scorched_. Jongin never wanted to let go.

_Love. Safe. Adrian._

He tried to keep up with the kiss, but his mind and sanity had gone erratic and haywire. A low growl rumbled upon Jongin’s lips when Adrian’s tongue demanded for him to part his lips. Jongin gave him the access because he did not know what else to do. And as Adrian’s tongue slithered into his mouth, licking the ridge of it, Jongin’s eyes rolled back.

It was too much at once. The hands gripping his thighs. The violent mouth kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Quite literally. And the hard cock that was grinding against his crotch.

 _God,_ Adrian was _hard._ It was almost painful as it pressed between Jongin’s legs. And it drove Jongin half-mad.

When he found some strength, Jongin retrieved his hands from Adrian’s hair to unlace the man’s shirt. While his fingers fumbled to undo the knots in the laces, Adrian broke the kiss to allow Jongin to catch his breath. But he barely could as the soldier smashed his mouth against Jongin’s neck and began to plant aggressive, heated kisses all over it.

That was… something. It quickened Jongin’s breathing and heartbeat. His blood rushed instantly to his loins and stirred intensely. He was sobbing for air by the time Adrian’s moved his lips back up to Jongin’s mouth.

Successfully unlacing the shirt, Jongin slid his palms down Adrian’s hot chest. Against the hairs, he felt the dark protruding veins throb and pulse against his fingers. Jongin’s heart clenched then. Eyes screwed shut, he tilted his head and kissed Adrian back, slowly. And Adrian fell behind to match Jongin’s pace eventually.

He felt Adrian’s heart thumper against a palm. Everything began to slow down that instant. He tasted salt on Adrian’s lips and wasn’t sure to whom the tears belonged.

His lips were throbbing when Adrian pulled back an inch, a fine line of saliva between their lips. Jongin stared into those fiery blue eyes. And if he had learned to read those eyes at all, he knew Adrian desired to have him this very moment.

“Jongin,” the man breathed upon Jongin’s swelling lips, resting their foreheads against each other. “Jongin.”

“I want you,” Jongin panted, curling a hand around the back of Adrian’s neck.

“Can I… have you… for just… tonight?” He was asking for permission again. Although that ship had long sailed when he kissed Jongin a moment ago.

Jongin leaned and pressed his lips to the man’s ear. “Have me. Fuck me. Do whatever you want with me,” he whispered and heard Adrian’s subtle, beasty growl.

He drew Jongin away from the wall, smashing their mouths together, and bore him to the bed. While a part of Jongin was overwrought with worry and apprehension—since he had never done anything quite like this—a bigger portion of him was excited and aroused. He, too, was hardening down there.

He wanted Adrian to never stop kissing him. He wanted to feel the man’s heartbeat against his palm forever.

After Jongin was lain on the mattress on top of the crumpled eiderdown, Adrian broke away from the kiss—much to Jongin’s dismay—and straightened up, now kneeling between Jongin’s legs.

They both drew big breaths, chests rising and falling rapidly.

Adrian’s predacious gaze travelled from Jongin’s eyes to the little skin that lay bare by his raised shirt. A raspy moan broke from Jongin’s throat and he immediately felt embarrassed for it when Adrian brought a hand to grip a side of the waist, thumb brushing the uncovered skin. Then with his other hand, Adrian pushed the shirt all the way up to Jongin’s chest.

He stopped to take it all in. Jongin turned red as those glimmering blue eyes ravished him. They started with Jongin’s pinkish brown nipples. Then they roved all the way down to his narrow navel. Adrian licked his lips and it was the most vulgar thing Jongin had ever seen the man do.

With both hands now latched on the sides of Jongin’s waist, Adrian bowed his head, bending low to place a fluttery kiss on the skin above Jongin’s navel. That parched Jongin’s throat and mouth. He was suddenly overwhelmed by a thirst that felt impossible to be quenched.

“Is this… okay?” Adrian asked. Jongin shivered. “Do you want me… to keep going?”

Adrian was still unsure of whether Jongin wanted him or not. It was as clear as day. He was waiting for Jongin to snap out of his trance and push him away.

So, Jongin wrapped his hands around Adrian’s neck and pulled him up. He kissed Adrian’s mouth, cheeks, bearded chin, eyes and forehead. “Yes,” he breathed at last, looking into Adrian’s eyes. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Adrian kissed him once more before he knelt up to take his shirt off and toss it to the floor. It was Jongin’s turn to marvel at the piece of work before his eyes. The man had a body that had seen countless battles and hardships. The muscles were sculpted by endless adversities. He did not wear his scars with pride, Jongin realized, as Adrian frowned disappointedly when Jongin raised a hand to brush along the scar on his waistline.

“I’m sorry,” Adrian muttered.

Jongin blinked. “What… for?”

“For… this. For… me,” the man said. Then it hit Jongin. Adrian was feeling sorry for how he looked.

God, Jongin wished he had possessed the ability and shamelessness to tell Adrian how perfect he looked.

Jongin was done with his own denial. He was done trying to let what his parents taught him about soldiers and servants to dictate his own wants and desires.

Adrian never killed anyone for his own gratification, on his own account. He did not deserve these scars he had earned. He had a mouth to feed. He had a High King to serve. He had a Jarl to protect. Of course, none of that really justified taking a life, but what else could a man like Adrian do? He’d had it tough all his life.

Jongin was willing to let go of his prejudice towards the man. Fuck, he had long let it go, right when he decided that Adrian was _love_ and Adrian meant _safe._

He sat up, brought his hands to edges of Adrian’s rock ribs. Then he looked up, fixing his eyes on Adrian’s. Adrian did not let their gazes break. He looked curious, disbelieving, and just as thrilled.

Jongin leaned in and pressed a kiss to a rough scar along Adrian’s waistline. Then as he slowly drove his lips up the man’s rock-hard torso, kissing each and every one of the scars there, Adrian cupped the back of Jongin’s head with one hand.

Climbing onto his knees, Jongin paused for a moment to behold the gory veins stretching out like the limbs of the devil from the sternum of Adrian’s chest. He then looked up at Adrian, raising both hands to the soldier’s chest, splaying his fingers against it. Adrian sucked in a deep breath. His eyes were glassy again.

Jongin had never imagined that the man would even be capable of tears. But he had seen Adrian tear up so much in the past couple of days. And it was all for Jongin.

Was this what Jongin had wanted? To see a formidable warrior crash and burn for him? To see if he could get under that thick skin?

Well, now that he had, he wanted to do nothing but turn back time. He wished he could go back to the day he had first seen Adrian leaning over the fence with an idiotic look on his face.

Adrian draped his hands over Jongin’s that were resting on his chest. Jongin withdrew them to unwrap the leather strip around Adrian’s hand. Adrian let him. While Jongin concentrated on unfastening the leather, Adrian cupped his other hand over a side of Jongin’s head, fingers softly carding through his hair.

Releasing Adrian’s right hand from the mess of leathers, Jongin took hold of the black-blue hand and brought it to his face. He leaned into Adrian’s cold palm, realizing he had never been touched so tenderly like that by a man. All that he was used to were welts and blows. Then he kissed the palm. It was all right. It would be all right. What happened tomorrow did not matter. This moment and this night belonged to them.

Adrian pulled him in for a kiss. It was tender and kind. Beautiful. They were at their most vulnerable.

Lying Jongin back down on the bed, Adrian briefly climbed out of the bed to kick his boots off. Jongin did not take his eyes off the man as the latter undid the laces of his pants. He did not take them off, however, as he slid back into the bed and mounted Jongin to kiss him until he was thoroughly satisfied.

And by the time he was, Jongin had run out of breath and was clinging onto Adrian’s body like his life was depending on it.

A small lopsided grin quirked a corner of Adrian’s lips. “I haven’t even started, and you’re already a mess,” he whispered against Jongin’s gasping mouth. That was not helping. If anything, it only made Jongin harder and even more of a mess. And if Adrian did not start touching him down there, he fretted that might just embarrass himself to no end.

But then Adrian straightened up and hooked his fingers around Jongin’s shirt before yanking it over his head. Jongin wanted the mattress to swallow him. Adrian was _watching_ him. Like a hawk leering at his prey rabbit. He leaned forward for a quick kiss on Jongin’s lips before he lowered his kisses to the neck.

Jongin gasped, his body arching into Adrian’s as the man seized both his wrists and pinned them to the mattress on the sides of his head. Unable to break them free, Jongin clenched his teeth and eyes and moaned while Adrian bruised his neck. Then he went lower, his hands still tight around Jongin’s wrist.

“Ah,” Jongin whimpered when Adrian moved his hot, wet mouth from the collarbones to the nipple. The strangest of sparks jolted down Jongin’s spine and surged straight to his cock as Adrian latched his lips around the sensitive skin. “Adrian,” he panted, the heel of his feet digging into the mattress, toes curling. He wanted Adrian to let go of his wrists. He wanted to hold onto the man. But at the same time, he wasn’t sure it could get better than this.

The way Adrian’s tongue swirled around the pebbled, hard nipple sent Jongin straight to the last silvers of his lucidity. His hands were eventually freed, and they immediately flung up to Adrian’s back.

“Adrian,” he rasped as Adrian moved to the other nipple, staining it with his saliva. His fingers digging into Jongin’s hips were as brutal as his mouth. Everywhere his beard scraped, splotches of red followed on his skin.

Just when Jongin thought it could not get anymore painfully torturous, Adrian descended lower while keeping his eyes fixated on Jongin’s. He brushed his lips all over the flat planes of Jongin’s belly. Leaving a kiss on his navel, Adrian licked along the faint lines of Jongin’s waist.

Jongin could not look away, fingers clutching at Adrian’s hair. But then Adrian slid back up. Kissing Jongin full on the lips, he lowered himself between Jongin’s legs. The sheer heat the friction their pants caused between their cocks made Jongin see stars on the back of his eyes. And there Adrian’s cock was, rubbing _hard_ against Jongin’s. It felt thick, hot and big.

“I want you… inside me,” Jongin gasped when Adrian turned to his neck again.

“I’m getting there,” Adrian growled against the neck, sounding like even he would not be able to hold himself back much long.

“Then take these off already,” grated Jongin, teeth scraping Adrian’s shoulder as his fingers yanked at the loose laces of Adrian’s pants.

Adrian drew back and planted his knees into the mattress near Jongin’s shoulders. He then pinned Jongin’s arms down with his legs.

Every muscle in Jongin’s body pulled, strained. He gaped up at Adrian with his heart in his mouth. He could no longer even swallow. God, Adrian looked _fucking_ amazing.

“Open your mouth,” Adrian ordered, tugging the laces from his pants before hurling them to the floor.

Jongin obeyed and parted his lips, slightly sticking his tongue out. The blood that coursed through veins felt as though it was set ablaze.

Planting a hand in Jongin’s hair, Adrian gripped it to hold Jongin in place. He then slipped his free hand into his pants. Jongin’s mouth began to water, the corners of it almost drooling.

It was definitely bigger than what it had felt like earlier. A heavy breath glided out of Jongin’s open mouth as he mustered the size of Adrian’s cock in the man’s large, rough hand. The slit was leaking with clear precome. Jongin wanted to lick it up. He wanted to know what Adrian tasted like.

Adrian brushed the cockhead against Jongin’s bottom lip, smearing the precome on it. Jongin swept his tongue along the lip and pulled his mouth open again. There was no way he would able to Adrian all the way in.

But he was motivated enough to try.

He let out salacious, pornographic moan as Adrian slipped the head of the erection into his mouth. Releasing his cock, Adrian raised the hand to the headboard of the bed and started to thrust into Jongin’s mouth.

Jongin came in his pants untouched, embarrassingly so, and gagged a little when Adrian’s cock slammed against the back of his throat. Adrian pulled out momentarily to let Jongin get his supply of air. Bowing his head, he kissed Jongin sloppily before he pushed his cock back into Jongin’s mouth.

“Fuck,” the soldier groaned, throwing his head backwards, when Jongin sank deeper to suck him harder, tongue curling obscenely around the pulsating cock. He pulled back and kissed Jongin again. Then he crawled down Jongin’s body, finally releasing the boy’s arms.

Jongin’s hands instantly wrapped around Adrian’s aching shaft.

“I want to fuck you… _now_ ,” the man huffed.

“No one’s stopping you,” Jongin said, barely managing to find his voice.

He ran his hands up and down Jongin’s clothed thighs before he pulled at the laces of Jongin’s pants and lowered them. Jongin did not know he could get more embarrassed than he already was, but he did.

Adrian arched an eyebrow with a sly smirk. “When did this happen?”

Jongin turned his burning face away. “I’ve never… done this… With anyone.” He needed to shut up. Trying to defend his incapability to hold himself back even before foreplay was over was even more humiliating.

Adrian leaned forward to kiss him softly. “I don’t mind,” he whispered. “I’ll make you come all night long again and again if you want me to.”

“Don’t say things like that,” Jongin mewled. He was already bared. He was red. He was mortified. He was nervous of what might come next.

But then Adrian slithered back down, kissing Jongin’s belly on his way. His tongue darted out to lick the thick come that was smeared all over Jongin’s inner thighs.

Jongin’s breaths came out shaky moans. And just like that, he was hardening again. Adrian pressed a kiss to the base of Jongin’s cock before he ran his tongue along the member.

The sensation it left Jongin feeling was unprecedented and he doubted anything could feel better than this.

He was proven to be wrong yet again when Adrian wrapped his lips around his cockhead and sucked the come staining it, his tongue flicking along the slit.

“Adrian,” Jongin wheezed, fingernails digging into Adrian’s shoulders. He panted hard, body sheening with a thin layer of sweat. “You… You don’t have to.”

Adrian blinked as though Jongin had said something foolish. “I _want_ to, Jongin,” the man said and took Jongin into his mouth. Now he understood why it had gotten Adrian that crazy when he was the one thrusting into Jongin’s mouth.

The warm, wet cavern that enveloped around his cock was merciless as it sucked him all the way from the base to the tip. Adrian was no novice like Jongin. He knew what he was doing, and he was _great_ at it.

Had he done it to Arwin, too? Jongin pushed the stupid thought away. He was not going to waste any more of the time he had left with the man he loved because of his absurdity.

Jongin was soon a sobbing mess as he desperately chanted Adrian’s name like a prayer. He was glad that the Overseer’s quarters were isolated from the rest of the frequented rooms in the longhouse.

Just as he was starting to edge toward his climax, Adrian stopped and pulled away. Jongin almost growled at the man.

Adrian kissed his thighs again before he knelt up and got out of the bed. Stepping out of his pants at last, he rummaged through the bedside drawers. A frown drew his eyebrows together.

Jongin propped himself up on his elbows.

“I don’t have any oil,” the man groaned.

“Did you use it up all on the chambermaids?” Jongin wanted to hit himself for letting that slip out of his mouth.

Adrian had a nice ass, by the way. A really nice ass. Taut and muscled.

The soldier turned his narrowed eyes to Jongin. “I do not fool around with the servants,” he said.

Now, Jongin wanted to hit himself harder. “You… don’t?”

“No. I just let you think that so that you would…” he trailed off, sighing.

Jongin felt better now. But now Adrian knew he had been burning with jealousy all this while.

He fished out the canister of salve he had let Jongin apply on his welts the other day and smiled. “This will do. And it will help.”

“Help what?” Jongin asked. Adrian gave him a look as he returned to the bed. “Oh. That.” He swallowed.

Adrian frowned. “We won’t do anything you don’t want us to.”

 _Is he insane?!_ Jongin wanted this more than anything.

He locked his arms around Adrian’s neck and hauled him down for a kiss before the man could have any more second thoughts and change his mind.

Jongin kicked his own pants off and lay completely bare under Adrian.

Taking in the sight before him, Adrian sighed heavily. “You are so… _so_ beautiful, Jongin.”

Jongin blushed. No man had ever had the courage to tell him that.

Then he kissed Jongin’s earlobe, whispering, “Can I? Please?”

Jongin wasn’t sure what he was asking permission for now, but he did not care. “Yes. Yes.”

Adrian took hold of his waist and turned him around to lie on his stomach. Jongin tensed up a little, but he trusted Adrian enough to hand his body over to the man.

A kiss on the nape of his neck. Another on his shoulder blade. Then a few more along the cleft of his back. All the way down to his tailbone. Adrian’s beard pricked against the skin there. Jongin buried his face into the mattress and bit into the sheets, clenching them with his fists, as he felt Adrian’s warm tongue slide down the tailbone.

A string of whimpers and moans were muffled by the mattress when Adrian yanked Jongin’s hips up to have him kneeling and bent over. He then slicked a thumb with spit before rubbing it against the puckered rim of muscles.

Jongin wanted to melt away. How good it felt was too embarrassing. It was a strange sensation first, but as Adrian began to stroke the opening repeatedly with his thumb, Jongin wanted it to never stop. And then it got better.

He felt Adrian’s beard scrape the cheeks of his ass first before he felt a hot breath caress the orifice.

“Adrian,” he moaned against the sheets as the man began to tongue the opening, wetting it with his saliva. “P-Please…” He didn’t even know what he was begging for. Maybe for Adrian to not to stop.

He wanted the man to devour him whole, eat him up until he was thoroughly ruined and ravaged.

Adrian licked him, sucked him, had him completely wet and eager. Jongin needed more. The tip of his tongue gently breached the tight opening. It made Jongin scream.

With one forceful tug, Adrian plopped Jongin over to recline on his back again. The kiss that followed was warm and soft.

“Are you… sure?” Adrian moaned into Jongin’s mouth.

“Yes.”

Taking the lid of the canister, Adrian dipped two fingers into it before settling the canister carefully back on the bedside table. He then brought the hand between Jongin’s legs. His finger teased the opening. Jongin shivered.

He was kissed for a distraction when Adrian slid the finger in. It did not feel bad; Jongin was relieved.

In fact, it, oddly enough, felt good. It distracted him from his aching cock or Adrian’s that was lying between their abdomens.

Adrian pulled the finger out before sliding it back in. He did it for a few more times to let Jongin get used to the feeling. Meanwhile, he never stopped kissing Jongin.

When he added another finger, it hurt a little. Just a little, as his opening was stretched. But Jongin decided to focus on something else. He fisted a hand around Adrian’s cock and kissed him hard, wrapping his legs around Adrian’s waist.

Throaty moans began to fill the room as Adrian fingered him, brushing bundles of nerves, stretching the walls of the tight warmth. Jongin’s eyes watered when Adrian pushed another finger in. But he did not voice an objection. He wanted the man to keep going.

Tomorrow would surely come. And when it did, neither of them knew what would happen to them. All they had was right now. And Jongin wanted it to last forever.

“Okay?” Adrian asked worriedly when he broke the kiss. Jongin nodded his head shakily and pulled him back down for another round of kissing.

The fingers curled in him, massaging his warm insides. And then Adrian pulled them out, rubbed them against the opening in circles, soothing the burning sensation with the cooling salve. It worked. It definitely helped.

Grabbing the canister again, he dribbled a generous amount of the salve onto his palm, kneeling between Jongin’s thighs. He bit his lip, eyeing Jongin with lust swimming in those two deep pools of blue, as he stroked his cock with the salve, slicking it all over. Jongin watched eagerly, although his heart was skipping nervous beats.

“I love you, Jongin,” Adrian said, raising one of Jongin’s feet to his chest. Jongin panted as Adrian’s coarse hand stroked the top of his foot, whose sole was pressed against the man’s chest, feeling the beat of his heart. The soldier’s other hand was pumping his cock as it brushed its tip against Jongin’s stretched opening.

Then he lifted both of Jongin’s legs and hung them on his shoulders. Gripping lightly onto Jongin’s thighs, he leaned forward, folding Jongin’s legs in the process.

“I love you,” he muttered again and kissed Jongin. He swallowed a shrill cry that broke from Jongin’s chest as he pushed the head of his erection in.

It burned. So hard.

The fingers were nothing compared to what slid into him next. The salve helped, but not much. And Jongin regretted nothing.

Once he was buried to the hilt inside Jongin, he stopped moving but continued to kiss Jongin. He was thick, full. And he _filled_ Jongin.

Yet, Jongin had never felt safer.

Then he began to thrust in and out at a slow pace at first. His mouth was all over Jongin’s face and neck. Vicious moans echoed against the walls of the chamber as fingers clawed into Adrian’s skin.

The first few thrusts were agonizing. But then it got easier. Along with the pain came the glorious pleasure Jongin had been dreaming of ever since he found out he was into men.

Adrian knelt up, rocking his hips toward Jongin, sliding in and out of him steadily. It felt _fantastic._ Jongin was crying. He did not know if it was because of the pain or the pleasure or the fact that the man he loved was inside him, buried so deep.

It was surreal.

Jongin shamelessly brought a hand between them and glided his fingers on either side of Adrian’s cock. He moaned, whimpered, as he felt the cock skid past his fingers.

Sweat beads were collecting in the hairs on Adrian’s chest and abdomen. Jongin’s mouth watered and so did his eyes. He closed them and tossed his head back against the mattress, back arching off it.

Adrian took hold of Jongin’s foot and brought it to his mouth. Kissing the sole, he licked along it before sucking the toes into his mouth, one by one as he thrust into Jongin, picking up the pace.

Then he spat on his hand, wrapped around Jongin’s cock and jerked at it, presenting Jongin with the sort of pleasure that made Jongin’s bones ache.

The muscles in Adrian’s arms and torso tensed up. He gritted his teeth and started to slam into Jongin, his cock throbbing dangerously hard.

“Come inside me,” Jongin gasped, fighting for breath.

With one of Jongin’s legs slung over his shoulder, Adrian gripped his thigh and drove into him before he bent over and kissed Jongin, all tongue and teeth. It almost hurt. And Jongin wanted more.

He screamed and cried, sobbing for air as he came first. Adrian did not too long as he followed right after Jongin and sank his teeth into the crook of Jongin’s neck, groaning bestially.

“Don’t pull out,” Jongin then pleaded breathlessly, locking his legs and arms around the man as Adrian collapsed on top him, both bathed in sweat. Adrian stayed, come and all.

 

 

##  e n t r’a c t e

 

 

They weren’t to say goodbye.

And neither was I.

But my time had come.

So, I sang to the trees.

_I have failed to fulfil my Oath. I am not returning._

 

 

#  F I F T E E N

 

 

The night continued to wear on. A chill breeze surged into the room through the open windows and cooled their heated bodies that lay on top of each other.

Jongin shifted his head that was resting on Adrian’s chest while his forefinger traced a black vein.

“Does this disease have a name?” he murmured, although the last thing he wanted to do was talk about the impending death of the man he loved right after they had just made love.

Jongin could barely even move and he was sure it would be worse in the morning.

Adrian looked sleepy. He said he hadn’t slept well in two days.

“No,” he drawled drowsily. “Some say it’s a curse.”

“There’s no cure?”

“No. Unless we could find a new source of life to… _reinvigorate_ my dying body. Did I use that right? I heard Vincent say that word a few times.”

Jongin frowned. He saw tears blind his eyes and clenched them. “I… don’t want you… to go.”

Adrian’s arm tightened around his body. “Jongin…” He stayed still as he let Jongin cry into his chest for a while.

Then they lay quiet for an even longer while. “I do love you,” Jongin said, breaking the silence with a soft sob. “I really do.”

Adrian coaxed Jongin to lift his head and look at him. He then pressed a kiss to Jongin’s forehead. “I didn’t want you to suffer like this,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“It is so weird. This is the happiest and saddest I’ve been in my life. At the same time.” Jongin settled his head back on Adrian’s chest.

“You have to leave Dawndale, Jongin. You will find your happiness again. You are very young. You have so much to see, so much to experience. You cannot let one dying old soldier hold you back.”

“Stop saying things like that,” Jongin wept, wiping an eye on Adrian’s chest. “I don’t want to hear you say things like that.”

Adrian chuckled then. “I’m sure I’ve heard you say worse things.”

Jongin raised his head and looked at Adrian hurtfully. “I can never be forgiven for any of that,” he rasped. “I deserve this punishment. I deserve this agony for… for having done that to you.”

Adrian’s lips turned sadly, and he cupped Jongin’s cheek to wipe a tear away. “I will never resent you for that, Jongin. I have never did. Listen.” He pulled Jongin close until their lips were almost brushing. “Even if I did right now, this very instant, I would face my death with a smile on my face. Because this is truly the happiest _I’ve_ been in my life, too. My life had been a constant hell, one shit after another. I never had anything nice that lasted for long.”

“Not even Arwin?”

Adrian scoffed. “Arwin was a great guy.”

Jongin scowled. “There better be a ‘but’ to that sentence.”

Snickering, Adrian kissed Jongin’s cheekbone. “ _But_ he wasn’t the one for me. None, before you, were. The moment I saw _you_ , you were all sparks and fireworks for me. You shook my world. It was as though I could finally see colours in my black and white world.” He smiled, brushing a lock of hair away from Jongin’s eyes. “But I… I just ruined everything for you, didn’t I?”

Jongin hid his face in Adrian’s neck. “Ruined?” he wept softly. “You finally gave my life a purpose. You’re the only man who ever believed that I am more than what I was told to be. You looked at me like… like I was _someone_. Special. Precious. I was too scared. Too scared to admit, even to myself, that I wanted you, too.”

“Because I’m an illiterate, poor, old soldier?”

“You’re not that old.”

“Okay. Then everything else?”

“Yes.” He sighed. “I only cared about what my father would approve of. I was always so afraid of him.”

“I am suddenly glad that I have no father.”

“Do you not know where he is?”

“No. He abandoned my mother basically right after knocking her up. He left town. No one ever saw him again. And it isn’t like I could tell that it’s him even if I ran into him now.”

“What about your mother?” Jongin looked up at him. “What happened to her?”

“She died. She got old and… really, really sick. So, she died.”

Jongin gently caressed Adrian’s arm. “I’m sorry.”

The Overseer exhaled heavily. “Vince was the only one who was there for me. And I left him. For Greenmire.”

Jongin had to ask the next question. “Did you and the Jarl… ever…?”

Adrian looked confused for a second. And then he gasped, “God, no! No. He is my _brother_. I would never… No.”

“Okay,” Jongin muttered and kissed a corner of Adrian’s jaw.

That night, they refused to say their final goodbyes to each other as he fell asleep in Adrian’s arms, listening to the man’s steady heartbeat. When the morning came, he knew nothing would be the same again.

* * *

He roused at the crack of dawn with a warmth that smelled like musk and sandalwood blanketing him. He sat up and glanced at the man sleeping next to him. A side of his body looked _rotten_ , starting from his right hand’s palm, all the way to his shoulder and chest. Jongin wanted to never leave Adrian’s side.

He’d stay with him, he thought. He’d stay until they could no longer be together. And if the grief was too much to cope with, Jongin was certain he’d muster the courage to end it, too.

It would be better than to live a miserable life narrated by his father, married to a woman he was not in love with. He would live in a big house, he’d have children, he’d have all the riches everyone coveted, he’d be respected among society. But he’d be unhappy all his bleak life until the dreary thing came to an end.

It did not have to be that way. He could live a short yet happy life. It would give his existence more meaning.

He gently combed his fingers through Adrian’s hair, careful not to wake him up before he leaned down and brushed a kiss on the sleeping man’s temple.

When he got out of the bed, Jongin picked up the flower that was forgotten on the floor and left it to rest on the bed beside Adrian where Jongin had been sleeping. He then got dressed and wended his way out of the chamber.

The longhouse was still asleep, so it was easy to sneak out without much attention. The Housecarls guarding the longhouse outside did not give him any trouble when he exited the front door.

The day was just starting for the town as shopkeepers and hucksters opened up their stores and stalls.

As Jongin meandered his way home, he absentmindedly rubbed the sore on his neck where Adrian’s teeth had left a prominent mark behind. A smile crept onto his lips. His hips felt terrible. He tried his best to walk straight and not limp.

He found the key underneath the doormat, where it usually was. Letting himself into the house, he closed the door as quietly as he could.

Then he heard the paws.

“Duke!” he gasped in a whisper as the dog jumped into his arms. “God, I’ve missed you, boy.” Jongin rubbed the whining dog’s head and scratched him behind the ear as it licked him all over his face. Then lowering the animal back to the ground, he headed upstairs to his room. Everything was where it was. However, the house smelled of a foreign perfume. Elena. She was still here.

Jongin sighed and closed the door before he crashed his bed. Duke followed and curled up at his feet. Sleep came to him easily.

But it didn’t last very long.

In only a couple of hours, the house was awake, and he heard his family having a heated discourse downstairs.

Jongin took a bath and changed into some new, fresh clothes before he went back down to find his parents and Elena in the drawing room.

“He was promised to _me_ ,” he heard Elena yap at his parents. “I think this partnership is not going to work out.”

“Wait a second, Elena,” his father started to say and then his eyes darted to Jongin. “Oh, there he is!”

“Jongin,” his mother gasped, turning around. “When did you come home?”

“A few hours ago,” Jongin said, shrugging.

“There,” his father told Elena. “Take him with you. We’ll attend the wedding whenever you decide to hold it.”

“There won’t be one, Father,” Jongin interrupted them. The drawing room fell silent for a moment. Jongin plunged his hands into the pockets of his pants.

His father shoved past the two women and stopped a few feet before Jongin. “What did you say?”

Jongin braved himself. “I cannot marry her, Father. I do not love her.”

Both Elena and Jongin’s mother gaped at him. “What is wrong with me?” Elena demanded, her bushy black eyebrows scowling at him.

“There is nothing wrong with you, Elena. I just don’t love you. I love someone else.”

Elena’s jaw slacked open. “I have had enough of this disrespect,” she said and stormed out of the room. “This is the end of our partnership, Keejhon.”

Jongin closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed.

“That disgusting soldier,” his father spat. “You do not only bend for men, but you fuck a soldier? The Jarl’s bootlicker?”

“What is going on?” his mother asked, shocked.

“Yes, Father. I fucked him,” Jongin snapped. “Actually, he fucked me. And do you know what? He did fuck like a soldier, holding nothing back. And I kept begging for more. I let him swallow me, bury me in his filth. And I _loved_ it. I loved _every_ moment of it. What are you going to do about it? I would rather lay on cold ground next to the man I love than lead a pathetic luxurious life with someone I don’t.”

“You dare… You fucking dare speak that way to me?! You agreed to do as I said!”

“I’m not a businessman like you, Father. I’m sorry I cannot live a life based on _agreements._ And you cannot manipulate or scare me into doing your dirty deeds anymore. I work for the Jarl now. My loyalty lies with him. And I came here to _warn_ you. That if you even try to hurt the Jarl again, I will expose you. I will let everyone in Dawndale and beyond know what kind of monster you are.”

“Jongin, what are you talking about?” his mother asked, her eyes brimming with tears.

“He hasn’t told you? He’s not only trying to kill the current Jarl. He was behind the death of the previous one, too.”

She turned to her husband with a horrified stare. “Did… you?”

“It’s in the best intentions of Dawndale’s future,” the man said, gritting his teeth. “And you do not want to make an enemy of me, Jongin.”

“Oh, God. Please, stop this, you two,” his mother pleaded. “I refuse to believe this is happening.”

“It _is_ happening, Mother,” Jongin barked at her. “Your son bends for other men and your husband is a murderer. The people might think that we have everything. But what we don’t have is happiness. I do not wish to live this way, under this _tyrant_ any longer.”

“If you leave,” his father said. “you may never come back. And all misfortune that might befall you you’ll have to face on your own. Some of which may be from me.”

“I will not let you browbeat me around anymore, Father. Kill me if you must. I won’t live as a coward anymore. I’d rather die this very day than to live another second of my life fearing you. But _you_ won’t be alive much longer after that. Adrian will come for you and he will not be merciful.”

His father acknowledged the threat. He did not retort again. Jongin looked at his sobbing mother and frowned. He wished she hadn’t married this monster. He wished she had chosen her own happiness. He shook his head and turned around to leave.

At the front door, Duke was waiting for him, wearing a desolated look. He yipped and whined sorrowfully, standing up to his hindlegs to sniff Jongin.

“Be a good boy, Duke.” Jongin gave him one last scratch and a kiss before he walked out the door.

* * *

He woke up to the faint fragrance of the flower lying next to him. It smelled nowhere near as good as the boy he’d gone to sleep with. Adrian cracked an eye open to find the white flower resting against the pillow beside him.

A familiar pain stabbed in his chest. He took a breath and pushed himself to sit up. He glanced around the chamber.

The boy was gone.

Adrian planted his pounding head in his hands and stayed like that for a long while. It felt like a dream, last night. All of it had. But the chamber still smelled of Jongin, sex, and a bit of the forest.

His mind was a muddle. The boy had really left. Well, wasn’t that what Adrian had wanted? A good life for Jongin? His happiness. Nothing more.

Jongin had made the right call. It didn’t hurt any less, however.

Adrian picked up the flower and fiddled with its silky petals. He had never adored a flower as much as he did now. White symbolized purity. He pressed his nose to the flower to inhale its perfume.

Tears stung his eyes then. He rose from the bed, leaving the flower on the bed. Finding his pants on the floor, he pulled them on and tromped over to the window.

That was it. It was all over.

He should probably go see what Vincent was up to. Even though all that he wanted to do hereon was drink and waste away.

Then the door creaked open behind him. The chambermaids were early today, he thought, and turned around to find Jongin entering the chamber.

They both froze, eyes blowing up.

Adrian almost pinched himself to make sure he was not dreaming. The boy blushed, looked away embarrassedly. He wore cleaner clothes and looked like he had taken a bath. There was a glow about him. One that Adrian did not think he had seen before.

“I left home,” Jongin murmured, rubbing an arm. “I know you’re worried that I would be devastated when… when something happens to you. And I will be. But I can handle it. You cannot decide for me. I will not allow you to do that. I’m a person of my own. I decide my own fate. If I want to stay, then I will stay. You cannot push me away unless you don’t _want_ me. For however long we have left, let’s stay together. Let’s be in love. Let’s see things together. Let’s experience things together. I cannot marry someone I do not love. I’m a horrible businessman, I cannot live an orchestrated puppet show for a life. I cannot hide my feelings any longer. I love you and I want to be with you. And you _will_ have me. Because if you don’t, I… might just _die_.” He finished in a whisper.

Adrian had no response to that. He just gaped in disbelief.

Jongin swallowed. “S-Say… something,” he muttered nervously.

Adrian was already crossing the room. Grabbing Jongin’s face with both hands, he smashed their lips together and kissed the boy until they were both out of breath.

“You’re mine from this moment forward,” Adrian growled against Jongin’s mouth. “And I’m yours.”

* * *

The rest of the day went on without much fuss. Adrian went to check in on the Jarl. Jongin clocked in in the Counsel’s study. Olivar was suffering from a terrible hangover. So, it was up to Jongin to do most of his work that day while the old man oversaw him. He said Jongin’s work was sloppy, but it wasn’t the worst, which sounded like an honest compliment. Jongin was grateful that he did not have errands that required him to move from place to place too much. He did not know if he could do that without wincing in pain with every step.

During lunch, Jongin joined Sin and Alecc outside with a plate of ryebread, pheasant meat, and boiled carrots. In the kitchen later that day, Baashere and Tigo found him. He gave them a couple of meat chunks, which the cook wasn’t too happy about. But Jongin managed to convince him having the tigers on their side would bode them well in the future and the cook seemed to agree.

He was summoned to see the Jarl in the afternoon.

The Jarl of Everwhite had apparently warmed up to Vincent. So, he asked for Jongin’s advice on how to strengthen their relations. Jongin suggested that giving Everwhite’s main economic activity, which was gold mining, some interest might help. They could send human labour from Dawndale to work the mines. It would benefit both Dawndale and Everwhite.

Then in the evening, when all chores were met, Jongin retired to his small room in the Counsel’s office after taking a bath. He waited until it was night to sneak into the Overseer’s quarters.

Adrian was waiting for him. He flashed a wide grin when Jongin sauntered in. Sweeping Jongin into his arms, Adrian kissed him.

“You smell like lye soap,” Adrian remarked, smiling against Jongin’s lips.

“It’s the only kind of soap in the facility,” Jongin groaned.

Adrian nuzzled against Jongin’s neck next and sniffed him. “I like it. But you could always move into my quarters.”

“People will talk,” Jongin gasped.

“Let them.”

“Really? You don’t care?”

Adrian laughed and Jongin loved the way the sound rumbled in his chest. “If I had cared about what people think, I never would have had the balls to court you.”

“Hmm… You make fair points.”

Adrian pulled back. “I must take a bath. I must smell terrible.”

“You do,” Jongin said, smirking.

Adrian rolled his eyes. “You can help scrub my back.”

“I’m not your housewife.”

“You can certainly be one if you want.”

Jongin’s cheeks reddened. “I…”

Adrian chuckled. “You can wait out here. I’ll take a quick bath.”

Nodding, Jongin perched on the bed while Adrian disappeared into the bathing chamber. Baashere and Tigo were missing tonight, too. He wondered where they were and if they were up to any good at this hour. He hoped they weren’t chasing any trouble.

He glanced around the bedchamber, a hand smoothening the creased sheets. Adrian had put Jongin’s flower in a small tankard and had placed it on the windowsill. Jongin’s heart warmed. This was all very strange and unreal. And all it took for him to be this happy and free was to find the courage to defy his father for once. And he was never going to regret it.

He looked toward the bathing chamber again. Then biting at his lip, he rose and wandered into it.

He found Adrian in the tub, back resting against the edge, water dripping from his hair. The man turned his face to the side and said, “You can join me, you know.”

Jongin’s stomach fluttered. Trudging over to the tub, he alighted on the tub’s rim behind Adrian and brought a hand to the man’s shoulder. He felt a tight knot in it and gave it a gentle massage. Adrian simply melted into the touch and leaned his head back against Jongin, eyes closed.

Licking his lips, Jongin pressed his fingers into both shoulders and kneaded them until he felt the knots loosen and Adrian relax. Then he slid one hand down the man’s veined chest to stroke the damp hairs there, while the other lightly curled around the underside of Adrian’s bearded jaw. He bowed his head and brushed his lips upon Adrian’s.

The soldier’s hand curled around the back of Jongin’s neck, pulling him down to deepen the upturned kiss. Their mouths opened, and tongues delved into them as their breathing laboured. Adrian only released him when Jongin had started to steal his air to keep breathing.

“This feels like a dream,” Adrian whispered. “All of this.” Then he frowned. “And we must always wake up from our dreams.”

Jongin’s throat tightened but instead of replying to that ominous thought, he rose from the tub’s edge and undressed himself. Adrian shifted his weight in the tub to watch Jongin remove every article of his clothing.

He blushed, turning red from neck to cheeks as Adrian’s piercing blue eyes stared lasciviously at him, lusting over Jongin’s body.

Although Jongin was still sore from last night, he needed Adrian again tonight. He needed the man to hold him down like he had last night and thrust into him. He wanted to smell like Adrian again, musk and sandalwood.

“Let’s make that dream last, then,” Jongin said as he climbed into the tub. The cool water made him shiver a little and he swam closer to Adrian, splaying his fingers upon the man’s abdomen. “I told my family,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to Adrian’s neck.

Adrian’s hands came to the small of Jongin’s back before one of them slid down the cleft of his ass. Jongin exhaled a shaky breath against Adrian’s jaw.

“What did you tell them?” he asked, a finger teasing Jongin’s opening underwater. Jongin was starting to lose his concentration.

“That I want to be with you.”

“You told them that?”

“Yes. And they were mad. But… I don’t care anymore.”

Adrian lifted Jongin’s chin to meet his eyes. “You stood up to your father?”

Jongin nodded his head. “I do not need his approval. It’s _my_ life.” He shifted to straddle Adrian underwater, legs on either side of the soldier. “And I want to live it with you.”

“Not forever,” Adrian said. Jongin’s eyes turned sad. “Jongin…”

“Not forever,” Jongin echoed, hands clinging onto the man’s neck as Adrian lifted him before turning around, pinning Jongin to the edge of the tub now. “But for now.”

“And _now_ matters the most,” Adrian whispered into his ear and kissed along his neck before he pressed their mouths together. Collecting Jongin in his arms, he then stepped out of the tub.

Jongin kept his legs wound around Adrian’s waist while the Overseer carried him back into the bedchamber with water rivulets dripping down their bodies.

Laying Jongin down, Adrian descended on him, kissing and licking up the beads of water from Jongin’s belly.

“You’re driving me crazy, Adrian,” Jongin panted, a hand in Adrian’s hair and the other clutching at the sheets as he arched his back.

Adrian looked up at him with a complacent smile. “Now you know how I’ve suffered all this while.” He dipped his tongue into Jongin’s navel and sucked out the water before placing a soft kiss there.

Raising one of Jongin’s legs to his shoulder, Adrian touched his lips to the skin between Jongin’s balls and orifice. Then he slid his tongue down to lick the pink rim of muscle. Within a few seconds, Jongin was a soft, moaning mess.

“Don’t… stop,” Jongin pleaded between gasps and whimpers as Adrian tongued his opening, wetting it with his saliva while his beard scuffed Jongin’s ass. “Oh, please… don’t stop.”

Adrian didn’t. Not for a very long time as he ate Jongin out, hands stroking the sides of Jongin’s body and thighs. And as Jongin loosened up, he slid his tongue in, causing Jongin to lose the last grip on his self-restraint.

Taking himself into his hand, he pumped his cock while Adrian sucked his opening, tongue slithering in and out of him. And then the soldier straightened up, Jongin’s legs dangling off his shoulders.

He spat on his palm before coating his thick cock with the spittle. Jongin gasped for air as Adrian lined his cock along the cleft of Jongin’s ass. The friction between the length of his cock and Jongin’s opening was simply stunning.

As Adrian rubbed his cock against the puckered orifice, Jongin broke into moans and cries, thrusting his cock into his own hand.

“Fuck me,” he then panted, a fire spreading all the way from the pit of his belly to his brain. “Adrian, I want you to fuck me.”

Adrian gave his cock a few more strokes between Jongin’s ass cheeks, he bowed his head and spat on the opening before licking the spittle up and spitting it back. Jongin had been right. Adrian really did fuck dirty like a soldier.

Spreading the saliva all over the orifice with a thumb, Adrian pressed the thumb in.

“God, please. I want you inside me already,” Jongin implored devoutly, a hand pinned against Adrian’s heaving abdomen. “Please.”

Adrian did not leave him begging any longer as he reached for the salve on the bedside table, which he had yet to put away. Slicking his cock, he brushed the tip on the opening, teasing Jongin painfully.

When he finally slid in, a muffled cry fell from Jongin’s lips. He waited out a few thrusts before yanking Adrian down to the bed. Mounting the soldier now, Jongin straddled the man’s hips and pushed his hands down on Adrian’s chest to keep him down.

Adrian’s eyes widened at Jongin, who was sitting on top of him now, his cock buried all the way up Jongin’s ass.

“Jongin,” he rasped.

With a crumpled face and a clenched jaw, Jongin began to rock his hips and ride the cock. It was more painful than he had imagined because now, _he_ was the one who was in charge of the pain. He struggled a little to find the right pace but when he finally did, he drove them both straight to ecstasy.

Adrian sat up eventually and kissed Jongin’s neck, collarbones and chest before wrapping his mouth and tongue around Jongin’s nipples. One of his big hands were pressed against Jongin’s back while the other gripped and squeezed a side of his ass.

As Jongin’s fingers tangled themselves in Adrian’s hair, Adrian brought his face up to kiss him on the mouth.

When it all ended, and they were nothing but spent, sweated out, and covered in each other’s come, Jongin crumbled on top of Adrian and caught his breath.

“Wow,” Adrian let out.

Jongin lifted his head and smirked at the exhausted man. “Wow indeed.”

* * *

They lay in bed as the night oldened, their limbs curled around one another under the eiderdown with Jongin’s head resting atop Adrian’s chest.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, rifling his fingers through Adrian’s chest hairs to chase the veins.

“Sometimes.”

“How does it hurt?”

“Like someone stabbing at my heart,” Adrian murmured drowsily. Jongin’s heart sank. “Like when you used to look at me with so much disgust and scorn.”

It was a joke but Jongin knew the man wasn’t lying. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He forced Jongin’s head up to kiss him. Then he pinned Jongin down against the bed once more for another round.

They managed to get little sleep that night and there were absolutely no complaints.

* * *

Jongin found Baashere and Tigo in the backyard, chasing butterflies. Well, Tigo was chasing them while Baashere relaxed at a side, blinking lazily as he watched over the rapidly growing tiger cub.

Both of them perked up when Jongin joined them with a bowl of boiled chicken meat he had gotten from the kitchen.

“Hey,” he greeted the tigers that leaped over to him at once. Tigo pounced on him when Jongin lowered to a crouch. Then he tried to steal a hunk of meat from the bowl but dropped it back when Baashere growled at him. “It’s okay. It’s for you.”

Jongin sat there for a while and tossed them the meat.

“You,” he heard Steward Malthe hail him from the corridor. He rose back to his feet and turned to the man. “You are being summoned by the Jarl in his study.”

Jongin bowed his head and scratched Tigo under his jaw before hurrying to the Jarl’s quarters.

He found the Jarl and Adrian in the study, both glaring at each other like they were about to bite their heads off.

Jongin cleared his throat and the Jarl tore his glower away from the Overseer. “Jongin,” he said, sighing. “Come in.”

Walking over to the desk, Jongin glanced at Adrian, who was rolling his eyes, shaking his head. “Yes, My Lord?”

“I received a missive today,” said the Jarl. “From… your father.”

Jongin blinked. “My father?”

“Yes. He is a very cunning man, isn’t he?”

Swallowing hard, Jongin asked, “What did he want?”

The Jarl sank in his seat by the desk and tapped his fingers together. “He is donating a large sum of money for the development of the public facilities in Dawndale.”

Jongin waited for more.

“But,” the man sighed again. “he has a condition. And the condition is to… fire you and kick you out of the longhouse.”

Jongin turned his gaze to Adrian once more. The Overseer was scowling viciously now. “How… big is the sum of donation?” Jongin asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Adrian spat. “You’re not going to—”

“Very big,” the Jarl said. “It might even cover the expenses to build a new school.”

Jongin’s eyes popped out. “That’s… amazing.”

“We could build the new school with or without the money,” Adrian argued.

“But it would take _years_ ,” Jongin shot back. “We need financial aid from wherever we can get.”

“He is right, Adrian,” the Jarl said. “And it’s a donation. We don’t even have to pay it back.”

“This is bullshit,” Adrian growled.

“Think with your head and not your dick,” the Jarl said. “I’m the Jarl of Dawndale. The town’s welfare comes before all else.”

“You promised to protect him. Now, you’re giving him away for money? So, money always wins, huh?” He scoffed, gritting his teeth.

The Jarl shot up to his full height. “You want to spread his legs, you can do it anywhere. He doesn’t have to necessarily stay here. We’ll find him a different home. Maybe one for the both of you.”

“That’s not the issue, Vincent! You take this away from him, he becomes a nobody again. You cannot take away the one purpose he’s found in all these years. You have no idea what this means to him.”

That was the moment when Jongin realized he had truly fallen in love with Adrian.

The Jarl looked at his Overseer with his blonde eyebrows drawn together. “Look, Adrian,” he began. “I know you care for him. And honestly, I do, too. He would be a treasure to my council. But Dawndale needs all the help it can get.”

“You’re thinking small,” Adrian then said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve made more progress as a Jarl than your father ever did in the last two decades. And you have _him_ to thank for. If he winds up becoming your Counsel, Vincent, you will be looking at aids far bigger than this. Don’t bend your back for a rich asshole. You’re a Jarl. Don’t let him manipulate you.”

That seemed to have the Jarl contemplating the situation. He turned around and faced Jongin. “What do you think?” he asked. “If you were my Counsel right now, what would you say?”

“I would want to keep my job, Your Highness,” Jongin said and the Jarl grinned, almost laughing.

“I suppose that’s fair. But be honest with me. What is the best option here?”

“You could accept the donation and have the school built a couple of years earlier. The children would have better education. But your Overseer is right. My father _is_ manipulating you. And it won’t be the last time if you let him do this. Take it from someone who’s had to defer to his every manipulation. He is doing this to get back at me. And he is a businessman. He will find a way to earn that donation back and even hinder your advances if you let him get involved. He is more cunning than you think.”

Leaning back against the desk, the Jarl rubbed his jaw. “You might be right… I do not want to seem like the kind of Jarl that would roll over that easily.”

“And you aren’t,” Jongin said. “You were born royalty. You have the birthright to sit in that throne and rule. Merchants and rich men like my father might be wealthier but they will never command the people. You have to put them in their place.”

The Jarl nodded his head. “I would be stupid to lose a Counsel like you.” He smiled. Then he glanced at Adrian. “Very well. I will ignore his missive. But I do have something else to discuss with Jongin about. In private.”

Adrian stared at the man for a length. He then drew sharp breath and bowed his head before storming out of the study.

Now facing the Jarl alone, Jongin rubbed an arm nervously.

“You know of Adrian’s condition,” the Jarl said.

Jongin’s insides twisted. He nodded once.

“Then you must know this is not going to last for either of you,” the man said. Jongin lowered his eyes. “Why are you still doing this?”

Jongin had the answer. He just couldn’t utter it out loud.

“You will get hurt in the end. And if you’re doing this out of pity—”

“I’m not,” Jongin cut him off. “I want to be with him.”

The Jarl stayed mum with his lips pursed for a moment as he surveyed Jongin’s face. Then he said, “You love him?”

Jongin’s face burned but he slowly nodded again, flushed and embarrassed.

“I have never seen him happy,” the Jarl proceeded. “ _Never_. He smiles sometimes but… it’s the smile of a dead man. But now… He’s happy. And I know it’s the happiest he’s ever going to be. I have you to thank for that.”

Jongin didn’t know how to respond to that.

“I just want to make sure that you know what you’re getting into. Grief will rip you open, Jongin.”

And he hoped it would. He hoped it would hurt so bad that he would not be able to go on with his life. Because he wasn’t sure he wanted to live one after Adrian.

“I know,” he said. “I think it will be worth it.”

The Jarl smiled. “Don’t you dare break his heart.”

 

Jongin moved into Adrian’s quarters the next day. It was easy. He only had a few shirts to pack.

“This is only temporary,” Jongin said when he found the man grinning from ear to ear. “When I become the Counsel, I’ll have my own quarters.”

“Of course,” Adrian said, wrapping his arms around Jongin from behind while Jongin placed his clothes in the wardrobe. “Isn’t that my shirt?”

“It’s mine now.”

“Well, whatever that’s mine is yours, anyway.” He kissed the nape of Jongin’s neck before tackling the boy onto the bed.

* * *

The Jarl kept grousing about wanting to go hunting, but he had no time anymore. The ball had forged many potential alliances for him. He constantly sought the Counsel, the Treasurer, the Overseer and Jongin guidance to make him make decisions.

In less than a week, labourers were sent to Everwhite to work the mines and in return, the Jarl of Everwhite lent Dawndale the money it needed to build new houses.

Counsel Olivar said he was ready to retire now. The Jarl gave him a two-weeks’ notice. In two weeks, Jongin would become the new Counsel of the Jarl of Dawndale.

* * *

Adrian had a meeting with the Housecarls and the Hold Guards, including their Captain, one of the days. Jongin stared Captain Rolland down ceaselessly, even though he knew he had no chance of winning a fight with the redhaired man.

Rolland gave him a confused look when he found Jongin glaring daggers at him from across the hall.

That night, he gave Adrian a hard time about Rolland. Well, _two_ hard times if you counted the angry sex that followed.

Adrian went to see the Jarl the next with a neck and back full of fingernail scratch marks.

Jongin was pleased with his work on Adrian’s skin.

* * *

Tigo was growing up. The longhouse was starting to become too small for two tigers. Adrian took them the forest more often, whenever he could. Back at home, Tigo grew more attached to Jongin. He’d started to play more with Jongin than his foster father, Baashere, who had started to retire his duty as an overprotective parent. He had taught Tigo all that he knew about being a tiger and now it was time for him relax on the bed next to his lazy master.

Jongin scoffed at Adrian and his pet tiger that slept with his head resting on Adrian’s stomach. “Lazy, old men,” Jongin said while tossing Tigo a grape. The tiger vaulted off the ground to catch it mid-air. Tigo then leaped up onto the windowsill and pulled the grille gate open between his teeth. Then he jumped back down.

Adrian was watching him, an arm tucked under his head. He always watched Jongin. With that lovesick look on his face. “How did I get so lucky? The servant’s bastard son with nothing to his name.”

Jongin blushed. “You’re known all over Arengol,” he muttered.

“As a mass murderer.”

“As a brave, powerful warrior.”

“People _fear_ me. Most despise me. But I got lucky. With you.”

Jongin left Tigo to play with grapes and climbed into the bed with Adrian and Baashere. Brushing the tip of their noses together, Jongin kissed Adrian.

“You got lucky because you showed up at my house every day to woo me,” Jongin said. Adrian sniggered.

“That never worked… What did, Jongin? What… made you like me?”

Jongin thought about it for a moment. “I wanted to get close to you. For… something. Because… I wanted to see you hurt. I don’t know why I was so twisted and… horrible. But there it was. The feeling. The hatred. The desire to see your demise.”

Adrian sat up. “You resented me that much?”

“I had no reason to. But I kept convincing myself that you were a murderer.” He frowned. “I don’t… feel that… bad spirit within me anymore.”

“I’m glad,” Adrian sighed and draped an arm around Jongin’s shoulders, pulling him close.

* * *

A couple of days later, Adrian had his first wave of fever. During training, he dropped his sword for the first time before he had collapsed, hitting the floor hard.

He didn’t get better for three whole days.

It _crushed_ him. Jongin stayed by the bed, weeping silently, dabbing a cold wet cloth on the man’s scorching forehead while Adrian struggled to breathe as his body continued to burn like a furnace. The veins on his chest were darker than ink and they had spread up to his neck, turning his tan skin into a deep shade of purple. The healer said there was not much that he could do. He left a Feverfew tea for Adrian to drink. It would help with the fever, he said. But not the pain Adrian was writhing in.

 _Like a knife,_ Adrian had said. And he was being stabbed over and over again.

There was nothing Jongin could do. So, he curled up at Adrian’s side in the bed that night and cried, praying that everything would get better tomorrow.

“I wish I hadn’t wasted all that time,” he whispered to Adrian, head resting on the man’s shoulder. “You have always been good to me. You value me, even when I don’t really think there’s much to value. I have been terrible to you. I wish I could turn back time. I wish I could you kiss you the day he came to my garden with a flower. I love you, Adrian.” He wept into Adrian’s neck. “Please, come back to me.”

That night, Jongin dreamed of trees and lianas that had him cocooned before they slowly receded and freed him from their clasps.

 

 

##  e n t r’a c t e

 

 

His body was dying. I could feel it. He might get better tomorrow but it would happen again. And again. Until his spirit would yield to the darkness.

He had a strong spirit and willpower, however. Adrian _wanted_ to live. And he was battling death.

I felt the essence of my _life_ and spirit breaking into smithereens. I needed an entity to give life to. Like my tree, which I could no longer return to. I had failed to fulfil the Oath.

But I could give the last remnants of my life, of my fighting spirit to the soul and body that were reaching out for the verve of life. I would not have my own spirit anymore. I was a Hamadryad, only a tree could keep me alive. But I could relinquish it to a human body and die.

I was fading, anyway. I wanted to see the murderer live.

I reached out and touched the man’s chest.

 

 

#  S I X T E E N

 

 

Adrian woke up in the middle of the night, all his sweat dried and his head no longer clouded. Jongin was fast asleep at his side, his lips swollen from probably crying too much.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes on the hilt of his palms. He took a deep breath. He could… breathe.

He hadn’t been able to breathe the way he could right now for a very long time. He glanced around the room. Then he recalled the dream he had just had. There were branches and lianas crawling all over the walls of his chamber before they had enveloped themselves around him. Instead of drowning him, they had gotten him to breathe again.

Looking down at his right hand, his eyes bulged. “What the…” he let out, turning his hand around, inspecting it. The black veins had disappeared. And when he clenched the hand, his fist was tighter than anything.

His head cleared. His body felt strong, sturdy. And the numbing pain in his chest was gone. He looked down and was taken aback to see no dark veins on his chest.

Utterly baffled, he glanced at Jongin again. What kind of sorcery was this? As he tried to slip out of the bed, he realized he felt _good_. Better than good. He had not felt this way in years. Could he be dreaming?

He wended his way into the bathing chamber to splash some cold water on his face. He then faced the mirror and took his reflection in. All the black veins were gone. His skin was full of colour. And he felt full of life.

Perhaps the healer had given him something to take the edge off. This had to be a temporary effect. When it wore off, Adrian was sure the veins would return. But for now, he felt great.

Grabbing a shirt, he sauntered out of his chambers, leaving Jongin to sleep soundly after giving him a kiss on the forehead. The boy had suffered a lot in the past few days. He never left Adrian’s side, even though Adrian had not been able to do much but pass out and sleep. He must have been afraid.

Adrian did not stop until he was out in the open corridor, inhaling the fresh night air. It felt strange. It was as though he had finally gotten another life to _reinvigorate_ his diseased body.

How was it even possible? Or perhaps he had already died, and this was his afterlife.

He shook his head and leaned over the balustrade. Then he heard a low rumble.

He turned to see Baashere and Tigo charged toward him through the corridor. They looked unstrung and tense. Adrian pulled away from the balustrade.

Baashere roared, stopping before Adrian as the latter crouched to take hold of the tiger’s head. “What’s wrong, boy?”

Then he smelled it. The pungent stench of wood smoke.

His head craned up to see the palls of black smoke wafting into the air from one end of the longhouse. Within the next second, a violent fire began to grow from the corner.

Adrian shot up and broke into a sprint towards Vincent’s rooms.

_God, no, no, no!_

The heat started to engulf the night as the fire swallowed the longhouse, little by little.

Tigo growled bestially, galloping in front of Adrian, blocking his path. Adrian almost kicked the tiger aside, but then he noticed that the cub was snarling at the other end of the corridor where Adrian’s quarters were. He spun around to see it ablaze in fires.

Jongin.

_Jongin._

Most of the longhouse was still asleep.

Then he heard screams. Agony struck him, and it was more painfully than anything he had ever undergone. He had to decide.

Duty or love…

But before he could decide Baashere and Tigo were already bolting in the direction of the Overseer’s quarters.

“Housecarls!” Adrian screamed, his eyes blurry with tears as he went hell-bent for leather toward Vincent. Everywhere he turned, flames were licking up the walls, destroying everything in his path.

 _Jongin, Jongin, Jongin_ , his heart kept clamouring as he belted through the hallways.

The Jarl’s door was down in flames by the time he reached it. Kicking it down, he burst into Vincent’s chambers only to find the man asleep with an anxious frown on his brows and sweat sheening on his skin.

“Vincent!” Adrian called, shaking the man awake.

Jolting upright, Vincent squinted at the brightness and squirmed at the heat that surrounded him. “Adrian? Adrian, what’s going on?!”

“We need to get you out of here!” Curling an arm around the Jarl’s back, he yanked the man to his feet.

The ceiling of the room caved, and a wooden post collapsed, almost crashing on top of them. Merely dodging it thanks to sheer luck, Adrian hauled Vincent out of the chamber.

Servants were screaming all over the longhouse now as the Housecarls finally rushed to Vincent’s rescue.

“Take him out of the longhouse. Now,” Adrian ordered the men and waited not another heartbeat as he raced toward his own quarters.

His heart was roaring in his chest, threatening to jump out any moment now. His blood pulsed in his temples, drummed in his ears. He had never known _fear_ until now. He feared for Jongin. And it was the greatest fear a man could ever encounter.

The longhouse was being evacuated while some tried to put out the fire. It was too late.

He was too late.

When he reached his rooms, everything was on fire. And it was spreading fast. He bolted through the hallway, through the fire, not minding the burns the flames left on his skin and clothes.

“Jongin!” he cried when he found the tigers clawing at the closed door, scratching it aggressively to have it open. They didn’t stop trying even as the fire closed around them.

Adrian shoved the door open but was forced to stagger back as the fire roared in his face before the wooden ceiling collapsed, blocking the doorway. His entire room was going up in smoke.

“Jongin!” he screamed, blood running cold.

Tigo pulled away from the door and careered back down the hallway like the wind. Biting his tongue, Adrian brought his bare hands to the wooden posts that were obstructing the doorway and tried to get them out of the way. He tasted tears and blood on his tongue as his hands burned against the fire.

The cub returned, looking frantic and helpless. Then he crawled into the little gap between the collapsed wooden posts that could only fit him. Tigo did not hesitate to dive into the fire.

Baashere roared.

“Tigo!” Adrian exclaimed. Then Baashere galloped out of the hallway, heading for the outer corridor. The window. Of course! Adrian followed.

As soon as they were outside, Baashere stood on his hindlegs and scratched at the barred window in a panic. Adrian tried to punch it open, but the grilles were locked from the inside. He heard the cub’s tiny roars as it yanked the grille gate open with its mouth. Its fur had caught fire and its skin and nose were burned, scorched and bleeding.

Baashere was roaring again and it sounded sad.

Adrian did not waste another moment as he climbed in through the window. He found Jongin on the floor, unconscious and out of breath, covered in soot.

“Jongin,” he gasped, hurrying to the boy’s side. He was still breathing but barely.

Gathering him in his arms, Adrian hurtled back to the window and clambered out of it. He settled Jongin on the grass and held the boy’s pale face in his hands.

“Breathe, Jongin. Breathe. Please.” He checked the pulse. It was almost quiet. But he was alive. Baashere licked Jongin’s face once before he turned to the window and roared before he leaped through the window.

“Tigo,” Adrian rasped and shot back up to his feet. The cub hadn’t made it out. But before he could head back in, Baashere dove out of the window with the cub caught in his mouth.

While he held Jongin in his arms, Baashere carefully and gently laid the cub next to Jongin on the grass. Most of the cub’s one glorious orange fur had been burned. The rest only collected soot.

Baashere growled lowly, nudging his nose against the dead cub’s. When Tigo did not open his eyes and respond, Baashere blinked slowly and sat down to lick the cub’s wounds before he placed the underside of his jaw on top of the cub, hugging him close. He closed his eyes and growled in grief, licking Tigo’s head every now and then.

The longhouse crashed and burned behind them as they cradled the ones they loved the most. Baashere’s loss had been greater that night.

* * *

“We found these, My Lord. At the back of the longhouse,” Sin said, holding out empty bottles.

Vincent trudged over the ruins and rubble the fire had left behind. They had put out the fire eventually but most of the longhouse was gone. Especially the Jarl and the Overseer’s quarters.

Whoever that had started the fire must have wanted them gone.

“We must relocate. At least until the longhouse is finished building again. Well, I want to remodel this place, anyway.” Adrian could not tell if he were joking or not. “What did you find?” Vincent asked, stopping to pick up a burned portrait. He sighed and tossed it away.

“We believe it’s kerosene,” Alecc replied.

Adrian turned to them. “Kerosene?” he echoed, wrenching a bottle out of their hands to give it a good sniff. “It is…”

Vincent looked confused. “So, you’re saying someone set the fire on purpose. I think we’ve already established that.”

“No,” Adrian said. “Kerosene is a fuel that’s hard to get unless you know a dealer. We don’t sell any in Dawndale. It’s an outsider’s work.”

Vincent blinked at that. “But… how? Why?”

“Or it’s an inside work,” Adrian said. “Someone who… who has the resources to go to all that trouble to get their hands on keros—” He stopped himself when it finally occurred to him. “The mercenaries who tried to kill you were also outsiders.”

“Well, if you hadn’t killed them all, we would know who sent them,” Sin said.

“Mercenaries only receive anonymous orders,” Adrian yapped at him. “You’d be an idiot to believe you could get any valuable information out of them.”

“Well, who do you think did it, then?” Vincent asked. “Who wants me so dead? And _you_ too, apparently.” He briefly looked down at Adrian’s right hand that was no longer leathered but bandaged. Both his hands were. Everything Adrian had owned had perished in the fire, anyway. All but the silver greatsword.

Adrian gripped his jaw. “I think I might have an idea.” He handed the bottle back to Alecc and started toward the infirmary in the east wing of the longhouse, the only place the fire had not managed to reach, thankfully.

* * *

The smell of smoke and wood ash flooded his senses as they returned to him. He woke from his dreamless doze and was faced with unfamiliar surrounds.

The memories and flashes of last night’s events slowly came back to him as he tried to sit up in the small room. Then he heard felt fur bristling at his bare feet.

Baashere lifted his head and looked at Jongin with his earnest, sad amber eyes.

“Baashere,” Jongin croaked out and realized his throat was sore and his voice was hoarse. From inhaling all that smoke last night.

The smoke. The fire. The chaos. He recalled them all now.

He remembered waking up to an empty bed as whippy fires crawled up the walls and along the floor of the room. He had thought it was another nightmare. But then he started suffocating as the air in the room was rapidly ate down by the flames. He remembered trying to reach the door before he must have had collapsed.

He didn’t know what happened next.

“Adrian,” he gasped.

And as though he were heard, the door creaked open and Adrian stepped in. He was clad in a shirt that was besmirched with soot and burn holes. His hands were bandaged. The greatsword was clinging to his hip.

“Jongin?” the man let out, eyes widening. “You’re awake!” He rushed to Jongin’s side the next heartbeat and held Jongin in his arms, brushing kisses on Jongin’s forehead, cheeks and then finally his lips.

“What happened?” Jongin inquired, hanging onto Adrian’s arm. Then he took hold of Adrian’s bandaged hands. “What happened?” he asked again.

“A fire,” Adrian said. “I’m fine.”

Jongin looked at Baashere. “Where is Tigo?” he rasped. Adrian kept mum. “Where is he, Adrian?!” Jongin cried then, a sob climbing up his throat.

Adrian pulled Jongin’s head to his chest and embraced him tightly. “I couldn’t… save him.”

“No… No,” Jongin mewled and broke into a cry. “No…”

And they stayed like that for a long while.

Once Jongin was all cried out, Adrian took his face in his hands and looked into Jongin’s eyes. “If it hadn’t been for Tigo, I would have lost you.”

That did not help. Jongin felt miserable every time he glanced to Baashere and saw nothing but hollowness in those amber cat eyes.

“And you?” Jongin asked, blinking the tears clumping his eyelashes together. “Are you hurt? You… You were sick.”

Adrian perched on the bed. “I don’t… think I am anymore.”

Jongin blinked. “What?”

Adrian unlaced his shirt and bared it open. Jongin’s jaw fell slack. “I don’t know what happened. But… I’ve never felt better.”

“What is going on?” Jongin breathed out shakily.

Adrian cupped a hand at the back of Jongin’s head and pulled him close until their foreheads were resting against each other. “I don’t know either, Jongin. But I’m not going to worry about that right now. Last night, I thought I had lost you. I was… so terrified. I had never been so afraid in my life. The thought of losing you right before my eyes was… It just killed me. And I never would have forgiven myself for saving Vincent instead of you.”

“You saved him first?”

“I had to… I… I’m sorry.”

Jongin shook his head and kissed Adrian’s eyes. “You were doing your job. He is the Jarl. He is important for the fate of Dawndale.”

“Still. I can’t believe… I should have gone for you first.”

“Hush,” Jongin shushed him and stole a kiss from his lips. “We’re okay now.”

Adrian pulled back to stare at his right hand. “I suppose. But… nothing explains this.”

Jongin slid a palm against Adrian’s bandaged hand. “How do you feel?”

“I feel… fine. For the first time in years, I feel fine. I can breathe now.”

Jongin had no clue where to even start with this. It truly sounded like a medical miracle but how? Had the fever somehow cured the disease? Perhaps was Adrian wrong about the disease being terminal?

Whatever it was, Jongin decided that he was not going to think too much about it.

“It could come back,” Adrian then said.

“Then we’ll face it again together,” Jongin promised him. Adrian licked his lips and gave Jongin’s cheek a gentle stroke.

“I don’t ever want to leave your side again.”

“That would be difficult. You’re literally the Jarl’s shadow.”

“Vincent is pretty shaken up. But he is pretending to keep his cool.” He sighed and rose to his feet, giving Baashere a brief glimpse. “He is grieving.”

Jongin did not know what to say. All that he knew was that he felt awful. “What… did you do with him?” he asked.

Adrian hesitated to answer. “Baashere took him away. I can only assume he laid the cub to rest somewhere peaceful and safe.”

Jongin choked on another sob, saddled with sorrow. He reached out and carded his fingers through the fire ash collected in the tiger’s fur. “How did the… fire happen?”

“That’s what I came to talk to you about.” Adrian’s tone turned slightly grave. “It was caused by kerosene.”

Jongin’s face grew ashen. “Kerosene? Someone… did it on purpose?”

“I believe so. Now, who would want me and Vincent to perish in a fire? Who is resourceful enough to deal with a kerosene dealer and afford the fuel?”

Something sharp bit at Jongin’s chest. “Adrian…”

“Please tell me you didn’t know anything about this.”

That honestly hurt. Jongin frowned at the man. “Do _you_ think I had something to do with this?”

Adrian clenched his jaw. “No. But do you… know someone who could have?”

He did. And he was almost very certain he had gotten the right man on the noose. How could that bastard? How could he be so power-thirsty that he was willing to let his own son burn in a fire? And kill the man he loved in the process. Jongin had been wrong about his father. The man was not just a monster. He was the devil himself.

“Jongin?”

He shook his head, taking slow, deep breaths. “My father,” he let out. “It was my father.” He looked up at Adrian’s glaring eyes. “I’m sorry, Adrian. I should have told you sooner. I should have told the Jarl sooner. But I was afraid. I didn’t want to… lose my father. And I was too much of a coward to do something about it. The mercenaries at the hoedown, my father sent them. The reason the old Jarl died was not due to fever. My father had hired someone to poison him. I only found that out before I ran away from home. And the fire. I’m sure he did that, too.”

Adrian raised a hand to his jaw to scrub at his beard. “You’re saying… he killed the old Jarl and is trying to kill Vincent now?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He wants a power vacuum in Dawndale so that he could threaten the people with his money and status and ascend to the throne himself. He wants to usurp the current reign and bring new rules. No more aristocracy that dictates who sits on the throne. Men with true power must fight for it.”

“So, he would go to the extent of killing his own son?!”

“I suppose he’s always only seen me as a pawn in his game.” His chest hurt to even say it. “The moment I defied him, he had disowned me. He wouldn’t care if I lived or died.”

“Fucking God,” Adrian growled, hands tightened into fists. “You must tell Vincent.”

More blood drained from Jongin’s face. “He would have me hanged, Adrian. I have committed treason by conspiring with my father. I have kept all of this a secret to protect my father, even when I knew the Jarl’s life is in danger.”

Adrian’s eyebrows pulled together. “You’re not wrong,” he muttered. “What you did is punishable by death.” Jongin could tell that Adrian was angry at him now. “How could you, Jongin? You could have at least told _me_! Or did you not trust me?”

“I trust you,” Jongin gasped. “I trust you more than anything in this world. You know that.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was afraid you’d start to hate me.”

Adrian fell silent, although he continued to scowl.

Jongin tried to get off the bed and onto his feet, but he stopped as his head spun lightly. “Adrian, please… Don’t… Don’t hate me.”

The hard expression on Adrian’s face softened as he wrapped his arms around Jongin’s shoulders. “Are you insane? I could never hate you.” He then held Jongin’s face in his hands, pulling it up to kiss Jongin on his chapped, dry lips.

“The Jarl has to know,” Jongin then said. “It won’t end until my father is behind bars.”

Adrian closed his eyes for a stretch. “But Vincent might not overlook your misdeeds.”

“Then I must face my just deserts.”

“I will not let anything happen to you.”

* * *

Vincent was quiet even after moments since Jongin had stopped talking, having laid it all out in the open. He leaned back against the infirmary wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

Adrian stayed close to Jongin’s side, a protective hand pressed against the boy’s back.

“I know an apology will not suffice,” Jongin added a moment later, his shoulders trembling. “So, I am willing to accept whatever punishment you want to mete out to me, My Lord.”

Vincent’s green eyes rose to Adrian’s. He did not look upset, but he did not seem very thrilled either.

“I could have died last night,” Vincent said. “You could have said something, but you chose to keep quiet. And now because of that, my house is burned to the ground, your lover’s pet is dead, my men could have died, _Adrian_ could have died.”

“Vince,” Adrian protested. “He already feels bad as it is.”

“Feeling bad is not enough, Adrian,” Vincent spat.

“Give him a break. He is young. He wanted to protect his family. He is innocent and naïve to believe that his father would turn over a new leaf. But you cannot blame him for hoping.”

Vincent’s hard glare eased then. “All right. Even if what he’s saying is the truth, it is not enough evidence for us to arrest his father. If he had covered his tracks pretty good, we cannot seize him and lock him up. Jongin’s word cannot be filed as an evidence.”

“Then find the evidence you need,” Jongin said. “You said it was kerosene, right? I know there is only one fuel dealer in Freshbrook.”

“So?”

“My father is friends with him. Arrest him, knuckle him, draw the evidence you need out of him.”

Both Adrian and Vincent gaped at him for a moment. Vincent then chuckled. “ _Knuckle_ him? Aren’t you a feisty little one… Well, are you sure?”

“I am positive,” Jongin said firmly. “My father is a businessman. He’d keep records of every transaction. Raid his house. You’ll find all of his files in his study.”

“I’ll get Rolland to dispatch a group of guards to Freshbrook and arrest this dealer instantly,” Adrian said. “And another to raid the tea merchant’s house.”

Vincent looked impressed. “Very well. But don’t think I’m letting you off the hook. You work for me. Unpaid for the next whole year.”

Jongin dropped his head in agreement.

“Vincent,” Adrian began to object.

“It is good enough that I’m willing to grant him amnesty for your sake, you idiot,” Vincent snarled at him. “Don’t push your damned luck, Vanstone.”

With that, he stormed out of the infirmary.

 

 

#  T H E   A F T E R W O R D

 

 

It took months to rebuild the longhouse. But when it was done, it was bigger than it used to be. The new Jarl held more Audiences to listen to his people’s grievances and plaints more often than any of the Jarls that came before him. His new alliances with the holds nearby had come to his aid when he needed resources.

Jongin’s father was arrested only a week following the fire that razed most of the longhouse to the ground. The Jarl had not ordered a public execution for the man. Jongin wondered if it had something to do with the fact that it was his father and that the Jarl cared for Jongin after all.

Instead, his father was locked in prison, sentenced for life once his crimes were brought out in the open.

His mother and Fanin took over the tea business. Jongin visited them once in a while to make sure that they were doing well.

“Move back in here, Jongin,” his mother implored him one visit. “It is very lonely in this huge house.”

“You could downsize to a smaller house, Mother,” Jongin suggested. “But I’m not moving in here again.”

His mother had taken his advice. Two months from now, she’d have sold the house that was too big for two women and a dog. The house was now the Jarl’s property and he had it turned into an orphanage for the kids.

Adrian had moved out of the longhouse, although he remained as the Jarl’s Overseer. With his protection, the town was safer than ever. His disease never came back, although they feared every single waking moment of the day it might. Jongin lived with him now in the small cottage they had built themselves near the town’s border, closer to the forest. He was now the Jarl’s official Counsel. With his advices, the town progressed.

Baashere grew older with them. He had grown quiet after Tigo’s death. He never jumped around anymore. He never played. Some days, he would wander into the forest on his own. Adrian said he often went to the spot in the forest where he had first found Tigo.

At night, the forest would sing for them and Adrian would tell Jongin that he could hear the trees. Jongin told him he knew what that felt like.

* * *

Dawndale had never seen days as good as these. And it was only about to get better.

Jongin planted a tree near the old stump of the tree that was cut down. Adrian was supportive of it. In fact, he even said that it made him feel better.

Then they had kissed against a tree before making love on the forest floor. Jongin didn’t know if he could get any closer to the man he loved than he already was in that moment.

Adrian brushed a lock of hair out of Jongin’s face as they lay on the ground, covered in dirt, leaves, sweat and come.

“What?” Jongin asked when Adrian kept on staring.

Adrian shook his head, smiling. “There once lived a man who had never gotten anything he wanted. But he stayed and persisted.” He leaned in and brushed his lips upon Jongin’s. “And he found his one dream that was worth living for.”

 Jongin curled up against him. “He sounds like a sappy old man.”

Adrian laughed. “He is.”

“I love this sappy old man. Tell me more about him and this dream of his.”

Adrian cupped Jongin’s face in his hand and said, “He wants to marry you.”

 

 

The End.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and leaving comments and kudos! Love you all!


End file.
